Long Lost Love
by LilyLilyCarnationRose
Summary: If you lost the person you loved and got a second chance, would you take it? Even if a hundred years had gone by? Spike is confronted by someone from his human past. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**This is based on a short story of mine that originally had nothing to do with the Buffyverse. But, as far as plot bunnies go, this one wouldn't leave me alone, and since the premise works easiest in the Buffyverse where the mythology is already established... voila. This fanfiction was born. Also, I just like Spike. I wanted him to have a happy ending. Which reminds me-**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except the bounty hunter(s). Everyone else belongs to Joss Wheedon. If some of the dialogue sounds eerily familiar, it may also belong to Joss Wheedon. I have a freakishly good memory and a soft spot for some of these lines. **

If Spike had been able to breathe, he would have been gasping for air. The hand yanked his head out of the water basin, twisting it violently to face the latest in a long line of apparitions.

"Spoike," Drusilla purred, reaching out and tracing the shape of his face, her fingers barely not touching his skin. Spike laughed.

"You're not Drusilla," he said, "she was crazier." Drusilla smiled, putting a finger to her lips. Her hair became lighter, her skin lush with life, and Spike found himself gazing into a pair of soft brown eyes, eyes that he had last seen staring lifelessly back at him.

"No," he choked out, trying to back away from the woman before him. "No!" The woman smiled sadly at him.

"William," she said, eyes searching his face, "aren't you glad to see me?" The well-loved voice was the last thing he heard before the roar of water came rushing past his ears.

"It's not working," Willow said hopelessly, looking over at Buffy. "I'm sorry Buffy." The Slayer nodded.

"It's all right, Will," she said softly, turning away from the table. "We'll find another way to find Spike."

"You're going to need a lot more than a locater spell if you want to find where the First is hiding out," Anya piped up. "You should hire a bounty hunter. I'd be happy to recommend a few."

"Like Dog the Bounty Hunter?" Dawn asked.

"I don't see how some Dog wanna be is going to be able to help us," Xander said, glancing at his ex-fiance. Before Anya could comment Giles spoke up.

"Anya's not talking about someone who hunts down bail jumpers," the Watcher said. "She's speaking of the Guild."

"The Guild?" Andrew said, fidgeting. "That doesn't sound very fearsome. They should have called it The Guild of Warriors or The Guild of Fear-Inspiring-"

"Andrew, shut up," Xander commanded. "It sounds mysterious and sketchy is what it sounds like," he said, facing Giles. "What do we know about them?"

"Not much," Giles said, folding his arms. "They're a very clandestine organization, composed of a variety of magical beings who offer their unique skill sets for hire."

"For hire," Buffy said slowly. "What kind of price tag are we looking at?"

"It depends on the bounty hunter," Anya said. "You have to negotiate with them. Haggle. I'll help!"

"We're doomed," Xander muttered.

"It's the only plan we've got," Buffy said. "How do we hire a bounty hunter?"

"Like this," Anya said, sitting up straight and pulling a pair of nail clippers from her pocket. "I wish-"

"Anya, wait!" Giles started, but it was too late.

"-to enter into accord with one of the Guild. By my blood I swear it." She took the clippers and nicked her finger, drawing a tiny drop of blood. The Scoobies looked around at each other, unsure of what to expect. Nothing happened.

"Nothing happened," Dawn said, disappointed.

"Are you sure you did it right?" Willow asked. "That can't be all there was too it."

"It was," Giles said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thankfully no one was listening. We need time to think about this about first, to consider exactly what we want to say."

"Good, because I hate it when people waste my time."


	2. Chapter 2

"Good, because I hate it when people waste my time." All eyes turned toward the voice. It belonged to a woman standing with arms folded in the doorway of the dining room. She was tall and slender with dark brown hair falling thickly toward her shoulders, with intense eyes that looked out of place in her lovely face.

"You're the bounty hunter?" Buffy asked, looking at her dark jeans, boots, and snug leather jacket. The woman smiled ruefully.

"Expecting something else?"

"N-no," she said hastily. "You're just so… normal looking." The woman laughed. She held up her fingers and snapped. There was a sharp intake of breath as a small flame appeared at the tips of her fingers. She snapped again, and it was gone.

"Does that seem normal?" she asked.

"No," Buffy said, chastised. The bounty hunter looked around expectantly.

"Well?"

"Oh, right," Buffy said, remembering herself. "We need you to find someone."

"I only make deals with individuals," the bounty hunter said. Buffy swallowed hard.

"Fine. I need you to find someone."

"And do what with them?" the woman asked. "Kill, maim-"

"No, no, just bring him back here," she said hurriedly. The bounty hunter nodded.

"See, this is why I need you to be specific."

"Ok," Buffy said. "I need you to rescue a vampire from where the First is holding him captive and bring him back here." The bounty hunter's eyes narrowed.

"Go on," she said, watching Buffy.

"His name is Spike," Buffy continued, "he has platinum blonde hair and wears a lot of black." She looked thoughtful.

"Why does the Slayer want to rescue a vampire?" Buffy inhaled sharply.

"How do you know who she is?" Zander demanded. The bounty hunter rolled her eyes.

"I wouldn't be a very good bounty hunter if I didn't who the Slayer was," she said, as if it were obvious. "You have no idea how often something wants to hire someone to kill you." Buffy stared open mouthed at the bounty hunter.

"Have-have you ever-" she sputtered. The hunter waved her hand at her.

"You didn't answer my question," she said, staring intensely at Buffy's face. "Why does the Slayer want to rescue a vampire?" Buffy swallowed.

"He has a soul," she said softly. Something akin to pain flashed across the woman's eyes, but she quickly concealed it.

"Fine," she said brusquely, "hold out your hand."

"Wait," Giles said, "Buffy, you haven't discussed payment."

"I don't have much money," Buffy offered, "but if you give me some time I'm sure I could-" The bounty hunter laughed.

"Silly Slayer, I don't want money," she said, pulling a knife slowly from the inside of her jacket and sliding the blade across the palm of her hand. She held out the knife to Buffy. "Take it." Buffy held out her hand, hesitating.

"You haven't told me what you want," she said slowly, meeting the hunter's eyes. She met her gaze with a little curve of her lips.

"I'll let you know when I see it," the other woman replied. With a sign Buffy took the knife and slid it across her palm, making a point not to wince. The other woman took a step forward and clasped her hand tightly. Buffy couldn't resist letting out a grunt of surprise as their blood mingled.

"Repeat after me," the woman said solemnly. "By my blood-"

"By my blood-" Buffy repeated, watching the red drops drip onto the carpet.

"I do swear-"

"I do swear-"

"to uphold this bargain-"

"to uphold this bargain-"

"lest I rot-"

"lest I rot-"

"and worms consume my flesh."

"and worms consume my flesh." There was a burst of light around their clasped hands, and then the bounty hunter let go. Buffy rubbed her tingling hand.

"So that's it?" Buffy said. The bounty hunter nodded.

"Now I find your vampire."

"Wait," Buffy said, holding out her hand. "I don't know your name." The woman looked thoughtful.

"Call me Phoenix," she said, and coalesced into smoke, which disintegrated and disappeared without a sound.

"So that was creepy," Zander said, looking around the room.

"Buffy, are you insane?" Giles demanded, coming to stand beside her. "You just agreed to an open ended deal with a bounty hunter we know nothing about! You have no idea what she'll demand of you!"

"I know," Buffy said, flexing her hand and examining her palm. "But it had to be done." There was no scar.

***

"Well?" The annoying Irishman was sitting on her kitchen counter, his top hat askew. "You've got your proof. You know I'm telling the truth. Do we have an accord?" The bounty hunter stopped pacing and stared at the man who had popped into her life the day before and thrown hope into it, something she'd set aside over a century ago.

"Fine," she snapped. "We have an accord. I'll find your infernal weapon and get it to the bloody Slayer. But," she took a few steps closer, hand right hand igniting and pointing dangerously close to his face, "once I'm done playing puppet master, you had better come through with your end of the deal." The Irishman smiled crookedly.

"Oh course I will," he said, leaping lightly from the countertop and thrusting his hand out. She grasped it firmly with the burning hand. He tried to pull away but she held it firm. Sealed with fire and verse, she let go and put the fire out. The messenger walked out muttering and cradling his injured hand.

She sank to the countertop, letting her head rest against the cool granite. A soul? Of all the things he had to go out and do. Hope was a dangerous thing to have.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike laid his head against the rock of the cave wall, closing his eyes. Of all the women in his life it'd had to choose her. The bastard knew how to hurt him. Buffy, Drusilla, even his mother- he knew they weren't real. He knew what they would say to hurt him. But Jocelyn? His soul had brought an eternity's worth of guilt with it on its return. With the guilt had come the pain, as raw as the day of her funeral. The weight of her death had followed him into his afterlife.

"William?" He raised his head and looked in front of him out his good eye. He laughed bitterly.

"You can't hurt me," he told it. "You're not real." This was a new trick. Instead of the usual turn of the century dress the First had her in some hard chick outfit.

"Whatever you're doing won't work," he told it as she came closer. "Though dressing Jocelyn like the Slayer is a neat little trick." He frowned as she reached him. The look in her eyes as she took in his injuries was disconcerting. It was almost… human. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the knife she was wielding.

"Oh that's rich," he managed. "Why don't you get one of your minions to-" He stopped. The First couldn't hold weapons. And the First couldn't hold his wrist and cut his bonds. He collapsed as his one arm fell free and he no longer had the ropes keeping him up.

She caught him. She grunted as she slipped one arm beneath his to support his weight. She was corporeal. Warm. Hot. Spike frowned. Too hot. Not burning, but much to warm for an ordinary human. He felt his other arm fall free. She tottered a bit as she struggled to support his full weight. Was she running a fever?

Then everything went black.

For a moment he was floating- no, everywhere at once, being pulled through a vacuum with only her warm grip to guide him. Then the picture suddenly snapped back into place and he was in Buffy's living room.

"Oh my gosh, Buffy, she's back! She's got Spike! She found him!"

Was that the little bit? Spike was too disoriented to focus on anything except the woman holding him up. He had the mother of all hangovers, and his head didn't feel connected to his body.

There were more voices. High, and girlish. He winced. Teenage girls. Where did they come from? Then strong arms were slinging his over their shoulder. He turned his head to the side and looked into Buffy's face. Except she was hurt. He could smell the blood on her face, if he couldn't see all the way. She supported him easily. She was taking him away. Wait. WAIT.

"Jocelyn?" Buffy stopped walking for a heartbeat, then continued carrying him. Spike struggled to look over his shoulder. There. She was standing in the middle of a group of unfamiliar girls, touching the blood on her jacket.

"Phoenix, you're hurt." It was Anya, approaching her without any reservations, as usual. But that wasn't right. That wasn't her name.

"It's not my blood," she told Anya, looking up at the demon's face and smiling grimly.

"Jocelyn!" he called again, but they'd turned a corner and were walking through the basement door.

"What did he keep saying?" Dawn looked at the direction her sister had gone with a worried expression.

"It was a name!" Anya said. "Josie, or Janie, or Jacy… maybe it was Casey?"

"He's confused," the bounty hunter said, unzipping her jacket and inspecting the damage to the front. "Who knows who the First was appearing to him as."

"Where'd you find him?" Dawn asked quietly. The bounty hunter looked up at her.

"In a cave tied to a wall," she said.

"Phoenix." She looked up to see Buffy in the hallway. "Dawn, will you grab some first aid stuff and go help Spike?"

"Sure," Dawn said, leaving the crowded room. Buffy jerked her head to the hallway. The potentials were too busy speculating on the identity of the hot blonde vampire and the bounty hunter's sudden appearance to notice the two women slip away.

"Thank you," Buffy said. The bounty hunter held up a hand.

"It's my job," she said. Buffy nodded.

"As far as payment," she began, but again, the bounty hunter held up a hand.

"I'll let you know," she said, glancing involuntarily at the basement door. "So I'll be around. Unless you have something you think I'd want on hand…?" She trailed off. Buffy was opened her mouth but couldn't think of anything. The other woman nodded.

"Like I said, I'll be around."


	4. Chapter 4

"What do bounty hunters want?" Buffy asked Giles, who was going through some old book. She held up one of her mother's crystal vases that had managed to survive the various demon attacks. "I mean, do they even want normal stuff?" The Watcher ignored her, consumed in his book. "Giles?" Buffy put the vase on the dining room table. "Giles, are you even listening to me? Giles!" The Watcher gave a start and looked up from his tome.

"I'm sorry Buffy, were you saying something?" he asked. Buffy sighed and put the vase away.

"Nope," she said, looking over her Watcher's shoulder. "What'cha reading?"

"I'm looking up 'Phoenix', to see if that will shed some light on our bounty hunter," he said, gesturing with his.

"So we can figure out what she'd want?" Buffy said brightly. "Great idea, Giles!"

"We're back!" came Zander's voice from the hallway. He and Anya walked in carrying boxes. "We went through anything left at the Magic Box and pulled whatever we thought she might like," he said.

"And I brought some things from my demon days," Anya said excitedly, putting her box on the table. "I've got a vial of monkey blood, the hand of a murdered virgin, that was actually a birthday gift, a ring from-"

"That's great, Anya," Buffy said hurriedly. "You can tell us about it later."

"Hey Giles, this one might help too," Willow said, striding into the room carrying another book. "Have you seen Dawn?" she asked as she handed the book to Giles. "She was supposed to help me research."

"She's with Spike," Buffy said.

"Is he still babbling incoherently?" Zander asked. Anya hit him in the arm.

"Ow," he said, rubbing the wounded appendage. "What'd you do that for?"

"Because Spike was tortured by the First," Anya said. "You'd babble too if you'd been talking to dead people."

"Since Spike is technically a dead person, doesn't that mean he talks to them all the time?" Zander pointed out. Anya raised her hand to hit him again. He flinched.

"Zander, just show us what you found," Buffy said with a roll of her eyes.

"Bit, I'm fine," Spike said, trying to get comfortable on the basement cot. Every time he moved he aggravated a different hurt.

"Have some more soup," Dawn insisted from her spot next to him on the floor. "Do you want me to put some blood in it?"

"For the last time I don't want anymore soup," he said, lying back. "It's burnt anyway."

"Anya made it," Dawn said, setting down gingerly in front of her.

"Suppose that explains it then," Spike said, closing his eyes. "She means well though."

"Who is she?" Dawn asked after a moment.

"Who?" Spike asked, not opening his eyes.

"Jocelyn." Spike opened both eyes this time.

"Why would you say that name?" he asked, not looking at Dawn.

"Because you say it in your sleep," she said. Spike looked at her and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You've been watching me sleep?" Dawn blushed.

"You've been in and out of it the last couple days," she said hurriedly. "Sometimes you'd spontaneously pass out." Spike tried to fight the grin that was threatening to spread across his face.

"Right," he said, facing the ceiling and once more closing his eyes. Dawn was quiet for a moment.

"You mentioned her name once," she ventured. "In your crypt."

"Funny, I don't recall it," Spike said. "I'd like to go to sleep now, if you don't mind." Dawn rose stiffly, collecting the bowl and bottle and making her way toward the stairs.

"Bit?" Spike called. Dawn stopped with her foot on the step. "Thanks." Dawn smiled.

"You're welcome." Spike listened to her tread up the stairs and open the door. The momentary chatter of teenage girls made him wince, but it was muffled somewhat when she closed the basement door. It was times like these when Spike wished he had the hearing of a normal person.

He laid very still, focusing all his energy on his various cuts and bruises. It would have been easier if he had been someplace dark, or in the earth. Someone shrieked upstairs, and Spike groaned, rolling over and trying to flatten himself against the wall. As he tried once again to quiet his mind, he felt a presence by his bedside.

"Dawn," he said, rolling over and opening his eyes. "I appreciate the Florence Nightengale bit, but-" He stopped short. If he'd still been human, he would be choking on his words. As it was, he merely laid there gaping.


	5. Chapter 5

"Jocelyn?" he whispered. She was there in front of him, in the same outfit she'd worn when she'd pulled him out of that hellhole. When he'd felt the warmth of her body.

"William?" she said tentatively. He nodded.

"Jocelyn-" he stopped mid-movement when she shrank away from him. "Darling, what's wrong?" He settled himself on the edge of the cot, gripping the edge to keep himself from pulling her into his arms.

"William-Spike-I'm still wrapping my head around this." He flinched. It hurt to hear him say that name.

"Jocelyn, look at me, please," he said. She bit her lip and met his gaze. "What happened-how are you-where's your accent?" She almost laughed.

"I haven't spoken the Queen's English in over a century," she told him. "I changed a lot of things about myself." Spike tried to relax his muscles, but they were tense with the effort of keeping himself on the cot and not beside her. Where he belonged.

"Such as your wardrobe?" he said, taking her outfit in. "You look like you belong in a biker bar." She smiled faintly.

"I'm a bounty hunter," she said. "I have to look the part." Spike started in surprise. Jocelyn? His Jocleyn? A bounty hunter? So that's how she found him. Buffy must've hired her.

"How did you get mixed up with the Guild?" he asked, barely concealing the shock in his voice. Her face hardened.

"There weren't many options for single women without a father or husband back then."

"I thought you were dead," he said, barley keeping the accusation out his voice. Her eyes narrowed.

"I was dead," she shot back. "But when I came back it was too late. You were gone. You were with… _her_." Spike lowered his head. She'd seen him with Drusilla. Trying to forget her, no doubt. He raised his head.

"Jocelyn, I wanted to die," he said. "Obviously it didn't turn out exactly the way I thought it would."

"And did you jump into bed with her right away or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?" Spike recoiled as if she'd slapped him. That wasn't what had happened. He'd been drunk, desperate, _hurting_.

"Spike?" It was Dawn, at the top of the stairs. Spike's eyes went automatically to sound of her voice, then returned to Jocelyn. She was gone.

"No!" he shouted, bounding to his feet. How was she doing that? What had happened to her?

"Spike?" Dawn said again, walking down the stairs. She stopped in surprise to see him standing, fists clenched and shaking. "What's wrong? I heard you shouting at someone… are you okay?" She was standing warily a few feet from him, alarmed. "Should I go get Buffy?" Spike sank into the cot, his head in his hands.

"No," he muttered. "She hates me."

"Who hates you, Spike?" Dawn asked warily, starting to feel scared. If the First had activated the trigger, then Spike was about to go haywire and she was alone in the basement. He raised his head to face her. She inhaled sharply at the look on his face.

"I deserve it," he said, shaking his head in despair. "She's right. I was a fool." He looked at Dawn then, and sat up straight when he noticed the terrified expression on her face. "Don't be scared, Bit. I'm going to go all big bad on you." He leaned back against the wall, still watching her.

"So you're okay?" she asked tentatively.

"Just working out some things," he said, crossing his arms across his bare chest. "Soul things." Dawn nodded in relief as a rush of understanding filled her. Of course Spike thought people hated him. It was the guilt.

"It's okay, Spike," she said, trying to console him. "You're good now. Don't think about the past." Spike smiled.

"I'll try, bit." Satisfied, Dawn went back upstairs. Spike followed her with his eyes then settled his gaze on the ceiling. Another sin he had to atone for. He closed his eyes and quieted his mind. First he had to heal himself.


	6. Chapter 6

"What about this?" Anya said. Zander resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Anya," he said, "for the hundredth time, I don't think the bounty hunter wants any of your spangled bras." Anya gave him a hurt look.

"I don't see why not," she told him. "Even if the woman does kill people, there's reason why she shouldn't have some decent lingerie."

"How do you know she doesn't already have dec-" Zander stopped himself. "No, I will not be dragged into this insane argument with you."

"Fine," Anya said with a shrug. "Willow, would you like this? It's not like I have any reason to wear it anymore." She shot a pointed looked at Zander. The red-headed witch looked up from the book she was reading at the purple spangled monstrosity dangling in her face.

"That's okay, Anya," she said. "I don't have much of a reason to wear it either." The vengeance demon stalked from the living room, bra in tow. "I think she misses you." Zander pretended to ignore what his friend was saying.

"Why don't we do something fun tonight, huh?" he said, clapping his hands and looking around the room. "Come on, guys, this is the first night we haven't had the potentials in the house. Why don't we let loose while they're training with Buffy and Spike?"

"Yea," Andrew said excitedly. "We could re-enact the Wrath of Khan or ooo! We could watch all six Star Wars movies!"

"Zander, this research is important," Giles said, ignoring the violent gesture Zander was making in Andrew's direction. "The bounty hunter could ask Buffy for _anything_. We need to find out as much about her as we can."

"Oh, I think I found something!" Dawn said excitedly. Everyone turned and looked expectantly at her. "Well, its not much," she said. "Just a paragraph. Well, a blurb. A footnote, actually." Looking sheepish, she handed the book to Giles, who peered at the tiny writing at the bottom of the page.

"This is interesting," he said after a moment. "It says here that a when a Phoenix dies an unnatural death, they are reborn from their ashes. But if a Phoenix reaches the span of a normal human life, the magic will remain dormant and pass to the next generation. If the magic becomes active, they cease to age and essentially become immortal." He set the book on the table.

"So what if you off yourself?" Zander asked. "You'd come back to life?"

"I'd imagine you would," Giles said, removing his glasses and polishing the lenses.

"Bummer," Willow said.

"So if Phoenix is actually a Phoenix, she could be hundreds of years old," Andrew said. Dawn opened her mouth but thought better of it. She had her own theories.

"Of course it would help if we could find more information," Giles said, replacing his glasses.

"Phoenixes in mythology were always birds of fire," Willow offered.

"She did snap her fingers and make that flame," Zander said, snapping his. Nothing happened.

"And she showed up with Spike in that big cloud of smoke," Willow chimed in.

"And she told us to call her Phoenix," Andrew said. Everyone looked at Andrew. "What?" he said, shrinking from their glares and eye rolls.

"Well if Phoenix is a Phoenix, then she'd make a perfect bounty hunter," a braless Anya said, walking into the room with a cookie. "She can control fire, and she can't die. And I thought they'd all died out. No one's seen one for centuries."

"If would have been helpful if you'd shared that earlier," Giles said in irritable British. "That would explain the lack of literature."

"I would have, if Zander hadn't made fun of my idea," she told him, biting into her cookie. Giles shot Zander a pointed look.

"Maybe they just like to be secretive," Willow suggested.

"Uh oh," Zander said from the window. "The girls are back." The stomping of teenage feet on the porch announced the return of the potentials. They burst through the front door, chattering animatedly as they swept through the house into the kitchen. Spike and Buffy walked in behind them. Spike headed straight for the basement.

"Spike," Buffy said, catching up to him. He turned to face her, his hand on the doorknob. "I know it was the first night you've been up to going out," she said hurriedly, "and I just wanted to make sure you hadn't overtaxed yourself-" Spike held up a hand to stop her.

"I'm fine, Buffy," he told her. "A little sore, but other than that, I'm just peachy." He opened the basement door and closed it behind him. Buffy considered going after him, just make sure he wasn't bluffing. She sighed.

"Did you find anything Giles?" she asked, coming to stand next to his chair in the living room.

"We think Phoenix is a, well, Phoenix," he told her. Buffy raised an eyebrow.

"And how did you make this leap of logic?"

"A footnote," Willow said. "A blurb, actually. More like a paragraph. Dawn found it."

"It means she can't die and she can control fire," Anya said proudly.

"Great," Buffy said. "So my only weapon if she decides to kill me is a fire extinguisher."

"Well, you could…" Buffy turned to fully face Giles, who didn't finish his sentence. She glared at him.

"Exactly," she said.

"You could give her a cold," Andrew said. All eyes turned to bore into him. "What, it might work." There was crash from in the kitchen, followed by silence. Buffy sighed.

"Keep looking," she said, resolutely heading for the kitchen.

"Maybe we could give her a gift certificate," Willow said, looking around the room. "Like to Waffle House. Everyone loves waffles."

"Will," Zander said, clasping his hands together. "I don't think that's going to cut it."

"That's right," Anya said. "Pancakes would be much better."


	7. Chapter 7

"Spike?" Dawn said from the stairs. The vampire looked up from lighting his cigarette.

"Your sister send you to check on me?" he drawled, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he pulled up his knees and leaned back on the cot.

"No," Dawn said, hovering in the middle of the steps. "I thought you'd want to know what we found out about Jocelyn."

"Jocelyn who?" Spike said with his cigarette between his teeth. Dawn rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Spike," she said, walking the rest of the way down the stairs. "I know that your Jocelyn is the bounty hunter Buffy hired." She stood in front of Spike, figeting under his gaze. He took the cigarette from his mouth.

"Why do you think I have a Jocelyn?" he asked, resting his hand on his right knee.

"Come on, Spike," she said, beginning to pace in front of him. "The bounty hunter's name is Jocelyn. You know her. You recognized her. You-"

"Bit," Spike began, but Dawn ignored him.

"-have a history together," she continued, growing more animated. "You told me in your crypt. I _remember_." She stopped in front of him. "She told Buffy that she would be back because of the bounty, but I _know_ she's really coming back because of you. She's completely-"

"DAWN!" Spike said loudly.

"-in love with you," she finished breathlessly. Spike studied the girl standing in front of him.

"I think you're a hopeless romantic," he said finally, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Don't treat me like I'm a child!" she said angrily, stamping her foot. The vampire raised an eyebrow.

"You know I'm right," she said sullenly, crossing her arms and looking at the floor. Spike sighed and leaned his head against the wall.

"She's not in love with me," he told the ceiling. "She hates me."

"It's just 'cause its been such a long time," Dawn said, leaning in excitedly. "You have to fight for her! I mean you guys were what, engaged? Married? Or did you call 'betrothed'-"

"Like I said," Spike said, interrupting her. "Hopeless romantic. 'S not your fault, most teenage girls are."

"Not the potentials," Dawn said, plopping down beside him. "All they ever think is 'vampire this, demon that.'"

"That's kind of their calling, Bit," he said, looking sympathetically at her. It didn't cheer up. Spike sighed.

"Tell me what you found about Jocelyn," he asked. Dawn brightened.

"Giles and Anya think she's a Phoenix," she said eagerly. "Is that why the-"

"You know I think I am tired," Spike cut in quickly. "Training slayers and all. Takes a toll on a person's health."

"Alright," Dawn said dubiously, getting up and walking to the stairs. "But if you ever-"

"Good night, Dawn," Spike said pointedly. The girl finally took the hint and hopped up the stairs. Spike straightened his legs and took another hit off his cigarette. Why did the girl have to be so damn perceptive? The complete opposite of her sister.

A Phoenix, hmm? That would certainly explain some things. If he was remembering correctly. He'd always had a flunky to do the tedious work.

Unbidden an image of Jocelyn as he'd seen her last, cold and silent in her coffin, came to him. He tried to block out the next image- of her clawing her way out of her coffin, staining her silks with dirt and blood. Spike shuddered.

"Bad memory?" The familiar voice jolted him out his self-created nightmare.

"Jocelyn." She was standing on the stairs, keeping the railing between them.

"I came to settle up the bounty with Buffy," she said, hands in her pockets. "Then I'll be gone."

"That's it?" Spike said, bounding to his feet. His cigarette clattered soundlessly to the floor, forgotten. "You're just leaving?" She shrugged.

"What do I have to stay for?" He swallowed his pride to force out the next words.

"Me," he told her. "Us." She laughed ruefully.

"There is no us, Spike," she said cruelly. "You made sure of that." She turned and walked up the stairs.

"Hang on," he said, going after her. "You don't get to waltz in here after a hundred years and walk back out like we had _nothing_- Jocelyn!" He reached the top of the stairs and, not even noticing the closed door, pushed it clean off its hinges. Ignoring the cries from the other areas of the house, he single-mindedly tore through the house, catching up to her in the empty living room.

"Damn it, Jocelyn, STOP!" She turned abruptly in the center of the room, spinning angrily to face him.

"Why, _William_?" she spat. Before he could cross the carpet and take hold of her Buffy came running into the room, Zander, Willow, and Anya hot on her heels.

"Spike, what's going on?" she demanded urgently, taking in the bounty hunter's aggressive stance. He barely noticed Dawn push her way to the front of the group, a protesting Giles right behind her.

"Not now Buffy." The Slayer took a step back at the savage tone of his voice. She glanced back and forth between the two, not sure if she should intervene if they went for each other's throats. "This is between me and her. We're having it out right here, right now." Jocelyn rolled her eyes.

"That's right, Spike," she mocked. "Take control. Be a man."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, his voice deathly calm.

"_My soul is wrapped in harsh repose_," she quoted dramatically, "_Midnight descends in raven colored clothes_." She looked on triumphantly as he struggled to hold on to his rage. "You are pathetic. Before you met me, you were nothing." She laughed at the crushed look on his face. "You were just a spineless, second-rate-" Out of nowhere a ball of fire appeared and careened into the bounty hunter's head.

It sailed through it and crashed into the boarded up windows, where it left a neat, round hole. Zander groaned audibly.

"Alright, now I feel better." Spike looked from one Jocelyn to other, his expression a contorted mess of emotion.

"Well that was unexpected," said Anya, master of the understatement.

"Well this does throws a wrench in my evil plan," the First said irritably. "But while we're on the subject of failure-" a second Buffy was suddenly standing in front of Spike –"here's someone else you failed to save." The First turned to face the real Jocelyn, now a tall, dark-haired man with a neat goatee. Spike snarled, showing his fangs.

"How did you ever not see how much he wanted you?" Now the goatee vanished, and he was strawberry blonde. "How could you not see that he was using you?" Satisfied at the stricken expression on her usually impassive face, the First disappeared in a blink of light. No one said anything. Until,

"So who here _hasn't_ been dead?" Rona asked from the back.

"Me," Anya said distractedly, staring, like everyone else, at the shocked pair in the living room. "Now ssh! I wanna watch!"

Jocelyn looked at Spike. Spike looked at Jocelyn.

He crossed the space between them in a single stride. The movement startled their audience, who jumped. He gripped both of her arms in his hands. She was hot. She was real.

"Come," he ordered, dragging her by one arm to the front door.

"Where are you going?" Buffy asked, finding her voice.

"Out." They watched as he dragged the un-protesting Jocelyn out the front door and into the night.


	8. Chapter 8

They walked silently but quickly down the empty streets, Spike still holding tightly to her arm. It hadn't been her. She didn't hate him. Did she? He cast a sidelong glance at her, looking quickly away when their eyes met. He glanced her way again, but she was dutifully looking straight ahead. She had been thinking about him. Why didn't she something? She should be babbling a mile a minute by now.

It wasn't until they'd almost reached it that he realized he'd been unconsciously heading for the cemetery. He slowed for the first time as they approached the gate.

"Do you want me to melt it?" she offered. He gave a start at the evenness in her voice. He struggled to compose himself, then,

"No." He grabbed the padlock in his free hand and pulled. The lock broke easily off the chain. He pushed the gate open and strode through, walking up the path and winding purposefully through the headstones. When he was satisfied that they were entrenched in the heart of the cemetery, he let go of her arm and perched on a headstone.

She couldn't pass for twenty-one. Then again, he could never pass for twenty-six. They'd been so young. The past century may have stolen the innocence of her youth, but it'd left her her face. She looked like the Jocelyn he remembered, though never in his life had he seen her in anything form fitting. He caught himself leisurely perusing her form and mentally slapped himself.

"Now," he said, watching her intently. She used to read like an open book. "I've had my head messed with tonight, and I want to know the truth. Have you been back here since you found me?" Jocelyn shook her head.

"No. I came back tonight to-" Spike waved his hand.

"Don't care. Whatever it was, it can wait." He settled himself more comfortably on the headstone. "I want to know. What happened to you?"

"Well," she said, standing uneasily in front of him. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Well…" He squinted at her. If she was uncomfortable, _why _didn't she say so?

"I'm sorry," she burst out, to Spike's momentary satisfaction. "It's the hair." He frowned.

"What's wrong with my hair?" he demanded, resisting the urge to self-consciously touch it.

"Nothing!" she said hurriedly, her hands in front of her. "It's just different. I've always remembered you as a brunette."

"So you think about me often?" he said, perking up. She shook her head, but smiled while she did it.

"And what have you done to your accent?"

"Well you're one to talk," he accused. "You're not even speaking the right bloody language." But that wasn't entirely true. The practiced authority in her voice was still there, along with a polish his now lacked. He should have realized it was the First all along.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking a few steps closer, but trying to hide her amusement at his outburst. "If I hadn't seen you in Prague with Drusilla, I never would've believed it was you." He bowed his head.

"How did you know I was a vampire?" She exhaled loudly.

"Damian told me." He looked up her, puzzled. "The blonde," she said, "he came after…" Spike nodded. He knew who she meant. Count David Whickham. The dark haired man the First had taunted her with. He stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

"I woke up in the dark," she said, crossing her arms. "I didn't know where I was… and then suddenly I was laying on the ground, disoriented. I realized I was in the cemetery-" she stopped pacing and smiled ruefully. "But you probably know all about seeing your own tombstone."

"Yea, I know a bit about that," he agreed. She continued pacing slowly in front of him.

"When I saw your headstone next to mine I thought you were dead. But Damian grew tired of my 'lovesickness', as he called it, and one night he got fed up, and took me to see for myself." She looked up him, her dry eyes heavy with the tears she refused to shed. "I saw you and _her_ feeding, and, well, I put two and two together. It's amazing how quickly you accept mythological creatures when you're one of them."

"You're a Phoenix then," he said in a low voice. She nodded.

"Yep."

"That's why you feel like an open flame." She laughed ruefully.

"I'm running a perpetual fever." He paused before asking his next question.

"And Damian was…" he waited, afraid to hear the answer.

"Savior, recruiter, mentor… in more ways than one." She gave him a significant look.

"Oh, so you were sleeping with him," he said angrily, jumping up from his headstone. "Well that's just fantastic. How many others have there been?"

"How many have there been for you?" she demanded. "I know at least one, and I'd bet money that you've been with the Slayer."

"That's-neither here nor there," Spike fumbled, trying to deflect her anger.

"You slept with her?!" she shrieked. She threw up her hands. "Oh that's just fantastic. I just rescued blondie's boy toy!"

"Now hang on just a damn minute," he growled. "You've had a century to adjust to me being with other women. I've had all of three minutes!"

"Oh you don't even know the half of it!" she seethed. "I was alone, Will! My father thought he'd seen a ghost, my stepmother burst into hysterics- DO YOU KNOW WHAT WOMEN WITHOUT A FATHER OR HUSBAND HAD TO DO?!" Spike's jaw dropped.

"You didn't-" the question caught in his throat. "Sell yourself?" No, he thought dully, no, not Jocelyn. Not his-

"No," she said, not meeting his eye. "I was a… tavern wench, for lack of a better word. I set my first customer on fire, along with the entire building. Damian found me wandering the streets and made me an offer I couldn't refuse." She looked up at him then. He saw the pain in her eyes and couldn't help himself.

"Jocelyn," he said, surprising her with the speed that brought him next to her. He took both of her hands in his own. "I'm sorry. Can we just-" She shook her head and tried to pull away, but he held her in place.

"William," she pleaded, "I'm not the same person I was."

"Neither am I," he told her, "but you were changing me before Drusilla ever did." She bit her lip. She was afraid, he realized.

"What if you're in love with a memory?" she asked, searching his face. "What if you don't want me like this?" He shook his head, brushing a stray strand of bang from her forehead.

"I'm not," he said tenderly. "And I do. Love, you still carry yourself the same, that proud tilt of the chin, like you're the bloody Queen herself." He laughed softly. "You should see yourself stand. Like you've got a stack of books to balance on your head. You yell at me the same way too. It's very un-ladylike to raise your-"

She kissed him. But she'd never kissed him like this before, not with a deep, desperate desire pouring forth from her lips. She'd never pulled herself up by his shoulders and hitched her legs around his waist. Spike pulled her closer, clasping and molding her to him in a way that would have shocked William. And he'd certainly never tried to rip off her shirt the way she was tearing at his.

Which is probably why he lost his balance and they toppled to the ground.


	9. Chapter 9

Jocelyn woke in the dark. Groggily she reached out with her hands, feeling the cold curve of stone with one and the cold arm of a corpse with the other. She threw her hands above her in panic, and, not feeling a lid trapping her inside, bolted upright and grasped the edge, gasping for air.

"You alright?" Instantly a fireball was in her hand as she twisted to face… Spike.

"Woah, woah, easy," he said, flattening himself against the walls of the sarcophagus, away from the burning ball of flame.

"Oh, sorry," she said, chagrined. She blew gently on the fireball, which floated a few feet above them and stopped, hovering.

"Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for," he said, still watching her warily.

"The whole waking up in a coffin thing brings back unpleasant memories," she explained, crawling toward him and letting him pull her into the safety of his arms. She leaned against his chest and shivered. "You're cold."

"You're hot," he retorted, wrapping his arms more tightly around her, as if to draw in her body heat. "Between the two of us we probably average out to a normal temperature." She chuckled.

"What a pair we make."

"What a pair we make," he agreed. She stretched her legs between his, brushing against the black denim and groaning.

"Sore, are we?" he asked smugly.

"Not in the way you're hoping for," she said dryly. "Some of us aren't used to sleeping on stone."

"I put down my jacket," he said, affronted.

"Oh yes, you're a real gentleman," she retorted. She paused in adjusting her bra, and frowned. "Why is there a bruise above my breast?" Spike coughed.

"I, uh, may have taken a little nip in the heat of the moment," he admitted sheepishly. Jocelyn worked her jaw, trying to come up with an adequate response.

"Did I taste good?" she ventured hesitantly.

"Oh yes," he agreed hurriedly. "As good as you smell."

"I smell?" she said dubiously. She could detect the panic in his voice as he tripped over himself trying to explain.

"You have a very unique scent," he said desperately. "Smoky, but with a sweet flavor. Not sickly sweet, like incense, more like honey. You're not upset, are you?" She laughed.

"I suppose its an occupational hazard of being with a vampire," she said, turning her head and kissing his neck. He relaxed slightly.

"So, ah, what happens now?"

"I get you back before anyone realizes that we…" Jocelyn trailed off meaningfully. Spike chuckled.

"How quaint. And last night I was sure your Victorian modesty was as dead as me." Jocelyn kicked him playfully, and made no move to leave the circle of his embrace.

"So what happens now?" he asked softly, gently stroking her bare middle.

"Well," she slowly, "I stay here for a while."

"And then?" he pressed, moving to slide his finger beneath her bra. She gently but firmly dissuaded it, thinking.

"And then at some point I go back to Milan." He paused.

"Milan?" he said incredulously. She smiled sheepishly in the dim light.

"I live in Milan." He resumed his caress, thinking.

"Can't you just pop back and forth?" She sighed.

"Did it ever occur to you that it's tiring to travel halfway around the world all at once?" She fed the burning ball more flame. "Besides, I have other clients." Spike laughed, a low, long chuckle of satisfaction.

"So the little bit was right," he said, trailing his fingers down her thigh. "You are hanging around because of me." He felt Jocelyn stiffen in his arms.

"It's a little more complicated than that," she said slowly, as if trying to put her thoughts in order. "I want to be here, but I'm also compelled to be here. The longer I wait to collect the bounty from the Slayer, the stronger the compulsion will become."

"Make something up," Spike said, shrugging. "I'm sure ol' Giles can come up with something decent you wouldn't mind having. You can always sell it. What do you usually get paid in anyway?" Jocelyn gently pulled herself from his embrace and knelt in front of him, her brown eyes serious.

"I responded to Buffy's call because I was waiting for it," she explained, taking his hand in hers and stroking his knuckles. "Someone hired me for a job involving the Slayer, and they knew if you were involved I wouldn't refuse. They told me you had a soul."

"I was bait?" he said slowly, his stomach working its way into knots. Jocelyn shook her head.

"You're the reason I took the job," she said, pleading with him to understand. "When its over, I'll-"

"When what's over?" he demanded, pulling his hand away and giving her a hard look. "Don't lie to me." Jocelyn bit her lip.

"I can only tell you a little," she confessed, "because you're part of it. The battle that's coming could potentially wipe out the Slayer line. You know what that would mean, don't you?" He nodded.

"It'd tip the balance in evil's favor," he said slowly. "What do you and I have to do with it?"

"I'm trying to help her," she told him, "I have to find…" she shook her head in frustration, "_something_ to help her. I have to find _it_." Spike raised an eyebrow.

"It?" he said. She shrugged helplessly.

"I can't say. The oath physically won't let me."

"And me?" he demanded. "What does it have to do with me?"

"I don't know," she said darkly. "I wish I did. All I know is you're key, somehow. You have a part to play."

"And what are you getting out of this?" he asked suspiciously. She smiled wanely.

"Something I desperately need if you ever want to be with me." He reached out and took both of her hands in his.

"Who could promise you that," he whispered, stroking her hands with his thumbs. He searched her face. Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, then back down to meet his. His eyes widened.

"The Powers?" He sat back against the stone with a thud. "Jocelyn, you have to tell Buffy. She has to know what she's up against-" But Jocelyn was shaking her head emphatically.

"You can't tell her until I've finished the job," she ordered.

"Why the bloody hell not?" Spike demanded. "If this thing is as big as you say-"

"Blame free will, not me," Jocelyn said wearily, coming forward and sitting down beside him. She put a hand on his arm. "They've already taken a huge risk by having me do this. They can't interfere even more." Spike was sullenly silent.

"Do you love her?" she whispered. Spike turned his head sharply toward her, then slumped his shoulders.

"I thought I did," he admitted. "But when I got my soul back, I realized just how twisted our relationship was. What we did wasn't love." His gaze fluttered over to Jocelyn, whose shoulders were still stiff. "Would I done what I did last night if I was in love with someone else?" Her shoulders relaxed as she responded to his teasing.

"Help me find my shirt," she said, casting about for the errant garment. "We need to get back."


	10. Chapter 10

They appeared in the empty basement in a cloud of smoke. Jocelyn stepped back from him in horror.

"Wil-Spike…" she said, putting her hand over her mouth. "How bad do I look?" The vampire's signature black was now gray. His face was smudged and his blonde curls were sticking up in odd places, as if someone had repeatedly run their fingers through them. Which someone had.

"Don't laugh," she ordered, swatting him in the shoulder. Spike covered his mouth with one hand.

"Jocelyn, you look…" He shook his head. "I'm just glad that I can't see myself in a mirror." She groaned.

"We can't let anyone see us looking like this," Jocelyn moaned, covering her face with her hands. "We need to find a shower or a bucket of water or a lake-"

"Or I could pick the lock at the school and we could use the locker room showers," he interjected. "Its Saturday." Jocelyn uncovered her face.

"That works," she said, taking a breath of relief. "Just point to what general direction its in. And hold on." Spike, still fighting a smile, pointed to the east and wrapped his arms around her.

"Why Milan?" Spike asked, rubbing the questionable soap they'd found in the locker room.

"It's old," she replied through the shower curtain. She had insisted on separate showers. He was still smarting about that decision. "I could decorate my palazzo how I wanted and no one would find it odd." Spike was seriously considering ripping the curtain off and washing her himself. In the end he decided that that probably wasn't the best way to start off their relationship. Or pick it back up. He still wasn't entirely sure what the etiquette was here. He idly wondered what Miss Manners would have say about it.

"Have you been back to England at all?" he asked, trying to keep his mind out of her shower.

"A few times," she said, cutting the water. He heard her step out of the shower and pad over to their clothes. He finished rinsing his hair and turned off the water, leaning against the wall with a martyred sigh. "They weren't exactly social visits, though. What about you?"

"I haven't been there since the '70s," he said, hearing with perfect clarity the squelch of the denim as she pulled it up her wet legs. "Except for a quick jaunt over to the continent with Dru. Throw me my pants, will you?" They landed precariously on top of the shower curtain. He struggled into the wet denim and pushed the curtain aside. "I'm coming out." She looked over shoulder as he sauntered over to the small wall dividing the showers from the toilets. She managed to wrangle herself into her pants and bra, and was now struggling with her shirt.

"So do you have any friends?" he asked, jumping on top of the wall and pulling on his socks. "Any bounty hunting buddies that'll be worried about you?" Jocelyn succeeded in pulling her shirt down, and laughed.

"Bounty hunters are extremely competitive," she remarked, reaching for her boots. "There aren't much room for friendships. But I've developed one or two. Otherwise it gets lonely." She handed him one of his boots. He pulled it on and began to tie the shoelaces thoughtfully before broaching the next subject.

"Any lovers?" he ventured. She was silent as she zipped up her second boot.

"Like I said, bounty hunters are extremely competitive," she said, leaning against the wall as he tied his other boot. "Damian knew I was more powerful than him, and from the beginning he wanted me to the dirty work while he collected the profits. He was banking on my falling in love with him to keep the arrangement going."

"And did you?" he asked softly, already guessing the answer. She shook her head, as if to dislodge invisible tears from her dry eyes.

"Of course," she said to the ceiling. "Then I cut off his head." Spike swallowed hard. "After that I didn't have relationships for a while. At least not with other bounty hunters. And humans, well, there lives just seemed too naïve after a while." They both were silent for a moment. Spike slipped off the wall.

"It's tears at me to hear you talk about killing," he told her quietly.

"Well I'm not exactly the woman I was when I died," she said bitterly. "I have tracked and hunted and slaughtered some of the vilest creatures to ever exist. For over a century, my job has been to exterminate things that you thought were only in your nightmares. I know you're a vampire, and I know the kinds of you things you've done," she said, her voice cracking. He reached forward and put his hands on her arms, rubbing them gently. "And I know the kinds of things you've seen. But there are things that even you only thought existed in books. And I've had their blood on my hands time and time again-" Her voice broke and she collapsed into him, her body heaving with dry sobs. He held her as her body tried to cry. Unable to make the tears fall, she pulled away from him.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her cheeks where tears should have been.

"Don't apologize," he told her, cupping her cheek with his palm. "Everything's all right now. You're safe now." He didn't mean it in a physical sense, and she knew it. He ran his fingers gently through her hair, the calming rhythm had the intended effect and her body relaxed. She rested her hands on his shoulders.

"Why do you put up with me?" she asked. He chuckled, a low, rich sound.

"Sentimental reasons." She wrapped her arms around his broad torso, resting her chin on his chest.

"You always did have a sappy side." He rolled his eyes.

"Don't remind me. I've worked hard on my Big Bad image."

"That's a shame," she said, running her finger down his chest, feeling him shiver. "I found it endearing." She trailed her fingers up his back, pulling herself up to her full height as she wrapped her hands over his shoulders. She leaned in and placed her lips on his neck, trailing up around his jaw before whispering in his ear.

"Hold on." Then the world disappeared.


	11. Chapter 11

They coalesced in the empty basement. Spike pulled away from her.

"So much for your master plan," he remarked lightly, wringing out his wet shirt. "We're still soaked…" He looked up to see Jocelyn chuckling. And dry. "How did you do that?" Still smiling, she came up to him and pressed her hands sensuously on his chest. He raised an eyebrow and curved a smile, then gaped at the steam rising from his clothes.

"All dry," she said smugly. He leaned in to kiss her.

It seemed to Spike that he was perpetually trying to save the women he loved. Drusilla had been broken, hurt in so many places that he used to wonder if he could ever heal them all. Buffy had always felt alone, even surrounded by people who loved her. And Jocelyn. Jocelyn, who'd lived for over a century without being loved. She'd hardened. He knew the soft places were there. He just had to break down her barriers and find them.

"You're back." They both turned to see Buffy standing on the basement stairs, watching them with a confused expression on her face. "And you didn't kill each other."

"No," Spike said, pulling away from Jocelyn. "Buffy, I need to tell you some-"

"In fact you look friendly," the Slayer continued, staring dubiously at them. "Too friendly. Am I missing something?" Spike looked at Jocelyn, who shrugged.

"Spike, what's going on?" Buffy asked as she watched the silent exchange. "Do you know her?" It was more of an accusation. She remembered their supposed conversation from the night before.

"I _knew_ her," he admitted. "When I was human. We were both human." He glanced at Jocelyn again, as if for help. She threw up her hands and shook her head. _I'm not the one who slept with her_, the look said. Spike looked back at Buffy.

"Buffy, she's my wife."

_Buffy, she's my wife_. The words went round and round in Buffy's head. A _wife_? Spike had a _wife_? A small stab of jealously hit her as she realized someone else had a claim on him, had had a claim on him long before she was even thought of. They certainly looked like they could belong together, but seriously. This was Spike. Motorcycle riding, platinum hair dying, gambling, smoking, SPIKE. Vampires didn't have wives.

A new thought occurred to her. They'd committed adultery. Wait. Had they? The wedding vows did say 'till death do you part.' What was the etiquette for meeting your former lover's formerly dead wife? She wondered what Miss Manners would have to say about this.

_Dear Miss Manners,_

_I recently had a relationship with a vampire that has since ended. Now, his wife, who died and came back to life, is back in town. Am I the other woman? Does adultery apply if technically they were both dead? The wife and I are also in a business relationship. What is the proper etiquette for dealing with this situation? Are the terms "exes" even appropriate? Did I mention that I also work with the vampire in the fight against evil?_

_Sincerely,_

_Buffy Summers (the Slayer)_

"Buffy?"

"What?" Her head snapped up to meet Spike's inquiring gaze. The real question, of course, was if the bounty hunter was the jealous type. "I'm fine," she said hurriedly. "I mean, it makes sense. You kind of have a history of commitment. You were with Drusilla for, what, a hundred years?" The bounty hunter's eyes narrowed. Spike shifted uneasily. Realizing that must be a sore subject, she hastily cast about for something else to say.

"So are you dead too?" Mentally she slapped herself. Tactful, she chastised.

"I'm very much alive," the bounty hunter said with a smile she tried to hide.

"Right," Buffy said, embarrassed. "Phoenix. Reborn from ashes. Sorry."

"Jocelyn died six months after we were married," Spike said, still watching Buffy carefully. Buffy frowned.

"Jocelyn?" The bounty hunter waved.

"Pleased to meet you."

"Why didn't you tell me your name when I hired you?" Buffy asked, annoyed.

"I'm a bounty hunter," Jocelyn said, as if it were obvious. "I don't exactly go around introducing myself as Jocelyn Montgomery." Montgomery. Huh. She'd always wondered what Spike's last name was.

"So you're British too," Buffy said, having caught the subtle inflection when Jocelyn said her name. "Giles will be thrilled." She coughed discreetly, glancing at Spike. He got the message.

"Buffy," Spike said delicately, "we haven't seen each other for over a hundred years. We've just been reunited, and-"

"Would rather I not tell anyone until you figure it all out," she finished. "Got it." This was going to be awkward. She sighed, turning to address Phoenix. Jocelyn. "I guess you'll be staying here, then?

"I'll be here for a while," the bounty hunter said vaguely. Buffy didn't press her any further. Maybe Jocelyn would let her off the hook with the bounty now that she was married to Spike. And having some extra firepower around wouldn't be such a bad thing.

"So," she said brightly. "Who wants breakfast?"


	12. Chapter 12

Jocelyn had been taught to play the piano at the age of eight. When she was ten, she was making samplers embroidered with scripture. By the time she was thirteen she was an accomplished rider, and at sixteen she could balance a book on her head while dancing the Viennese waltz. When she made her debut at eighteen she and her pedigree, traceable to the Battle of Hastings, had three offers of marriage. But her father, who never bothered to hide his preference for his youngest, accepted that she was a hopeless romantic and politely declined. In the past century she had added variously under-handed methods of hand-to-hand combat and proficiency with a dagger to her resume, which, if one were to print it out, would list 'short sword' next to 'table settings.' Two-thousand years of blue blood, however, is difficult to suppress, and it was thus often that Jocelyn found herself a victim of her own breeding.

"It certainly is a clear night," Jocelyn remarked. "The moon is lovely."

"Yea, the moon is lovely alright," the Slayer replied, glancing sideways at the bounty hunter. She'd been making the same inane conversation for the past seven minutes, always in the same dry, polite tone. Buffy grit her teeth. She never thought she'd wish for the potentials. She caught Jocelyn shooting pointed glances at her. Clearly it was her turn to remark on the way the moonlight glinted off the tombstones.

"Look, I appreciate the effort, but this small talk isn't accomplishing anything," Buffy said, turning to face the other woman in exasperation. "In fact its ridiculous. Why can't we just agree that this is weird and try to get past it?" Jocelyn sighed.

"You know, its not often that I spend this much time with my clients," she grudgingly revealed. "I was hoping that if we stuck to the weather you wouldn't want to gab about relationships or share your innermost feelings."

"I don't make it a habit of sharing my deep dark secrets with strangers," Buffy retorted, annoyed. "Especially when I owe them money."

"Well after Anya cornered me to say that having the ability to disappear out of my corset must have made my love life easier, I wasn't taking any chances," Jocelyn muttered darkly. Buffy nodded sympathetically.

"That sounds like Anya," she agreed. They listened to the sound of crickets for a moment, then,

"Did it make it easier?" Jocelyn snorted.

"The first thing I did after I killed Damian was stop wearing dresses," she said. "I figured if I wasn't a member of polite society anymore, why dress like it?"

"Damian?" Buffy asked, arching an eyebrow. Jocelyn sighed.

"Lover gone bad." Buffy nodded sympathetically.

"I had to stab my boyfriend through the heart once."

"It's never easy," Jocelyn commented sagely.

"Got that right," Buffy agreed. She the natural pause pass, then asked the question that had been on her mind ever since Giles had shared what he'd found about the Phoenix.

"When you come back," she said quietly, "from dying, do you feel…?" She couldn't finish the sentence. She'd never thought she'd ever meet anyone who could relate to what she'd experienced the summer she'd defeated Glory, and now that she had, she couldn't even put her question into words.

"Hollow?" Jocelyn answered, turning slightly to face Buffy. The Slayer nodded, choking on the emotions welling up in her throat. "I only see it," the bounty hunter continued, looking at the ground and stabbing at it with her boot. "But I'm right there, hovering on the edge. The burning is bad, but the ripping-"

"Is the hardest," Buffy choked out. Jocelyn looked up at her, the pain in the girl's eyes penetrating her defenses.

"I'm not going to take him away, you know," she said softly, responding to the other woman's unexpected vulnerability. "It's obvious you have a connection." Buffy wasn't sure if she should be more shocked by how well Jocelyn had read her or the fact that she'd actually made a clear statement of intention.

"I don't love him," she admitted, trying to keep the tears that were clouding her vision from falling. "I mean I care about him," she continued, now the one staring at the ground. "But we have a complicated relationship." Jocelyn laughed softly.

"More complicated than ours?" Buffy allowed herself a small smile. She had a point.

"I'm not ready for him to not be here," she said in the same soft tone. "We've leaned on each other. He's always gotten me, been there and understood when even I didn't. When my friends were clueless, he was right on the money."

"He's always been like that," Jocelyn said, smiling genuinely at the memory. "Always seeing to the heart of everyone else's relationships but hopelessly biased when it came to his own." The silence that followed was made even more palpable by the intimacy of their conversation. They stood awkwardly next to each other, having come to a silent understanding and resolved not to continue the conversation. Buffy was about to comment on how nice the moss looked on a nearby headstone when she heard a yelp. She didn't bother to conceal her sigh of relief. Spike had chased the potentials their way at last.


	13. Chapter 13

From their vantage point on top of the mausoleum, Jocelyn and Buffy were able to watch as Spike easily knocked Rona to the ground and, grabbing Vi in a choke-hold, lean in to brush his fangs across the girl's neck. Vi squealed.

"These two are dead," Spike said, pulling away from the potential slayer's neck. "Who can tell me why?" The other girls cautiously made their way out of the trees on either side of the mausoleum, where they had watched the two girls try and make their way across the cemetery without being eaten.

"Um, Mr. Spike, Sir, you're hurting me," the timid brunette squeaked. Spike released her and watched with amusement as she scampered off to join her friends.

"Because the black chick always dies first," Rona grumbled as Buffy jumped nimbly from the stone roof. Jocelyn, who found the whole thing both amusing and pathetic, settled herself on the edge, where she could observe without being called on to offer any teacherly advice.

"I don't know why we bother," Rona continued to rant. "He's a vampire. We don't have slayer strength or speed. It's not a fair fight."

"You think I care if it's a fair fight?" Spike chimed in. The girls jumped, to their immediate chagrin. "I'm just looking for a quick bite." He smacked his teeth to emphasize the double meaning of the last word. Jocelyn smirked. He caught her eye and winked.

"It's not all about slayer strength or speed," Buffy lectured. "It's about instinct. Follow it. Let it help you make the fight your own." She took a step toward Spike. "Hit me."

"Hang on," one of the Brits piped up. "It's not really very useful for us to see you fight him." Buffy turned toward the girl with a quizzical look. "I mean," she continued, looking at her toes, "it's not very useful for us to see a slayer fighting when we don't have slayer strength. It'd be more useful if we could see a regular person fight him." Jocelyn grimaced as several pairs of teenaged eyes turned toward her with a mixture of reverence and awe.

"I hardly think Jocelyn qualifies as a regular person," Buffy said dryly, risking a glance at Jocelyn. The idea of teaching seemed to cause her physical pain. She glanced at Spike. The vampire looked stricken at the thought of having to hit his wife.

"What if she didn't use her powers?" Rona said, persisting. "Then she'd almost be a regular person." Jocelyn had slipped quietly from the roof and was standing in front of the mausoleum with her arms crossed, watching Buffy. She didn't want to admit that she still didn't like seeing Spike's face when he vamped. The Slayer shrugged.

"Rona has a point," she acquiesced. "And it'll prove to them that this isn't a waste of time." Spike shot Buffy a dirty look. She ignored him. Part of her was dying to see if the bounty hunter could hold her own in a somewhat-fair fight.

Jocelyn sighed and unzipped her caramel colored jacket, laying it carefully across a headstone.

"Can I borrow a stake?" she asked. The girls jostled each other as they tried to pull out their stakes first, but Lydia managed to toss Jocelyn her bit of pointed wood first. They backed away, giving the two combatants a wide berth. Their anticipation was obvious.

"Ok," his wife said, standing in front of him and spreading her feet firmly on the ground. "Come at me." Spike crossed his arms.

"I don't like this," he told her stubbornly. Jocelyn rolled her eyes.

"Why, do you think I can't take you?" she asked.

"I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around your new warring persona," he crossly. "The last time I saw you couldn't exactly hold your own."

"Well, the last time you saw me I couldn't do this," she shot back, opening her hands to a burst of flames. The girls consciously widened the space between them and the bickering couple. Buffy stepped behind a headstone. "If I could, we wouldn't even be here."

"No, if you could do" he waved his hands in a dramatic fashion, "then you'd have died in an asylum and we'd _still_ be here."

"I don't exactly remember _you_ being the warrior type either," she accused. "How do you I won't hurt you?" Spike spread his arms in front of him, inviting her to take a shot.

"Well since I'm already dead, why don't you give it a try?" She kicked him. He easily caught her foot and twisted, knocking her off her feet and to the ground. He went to stand triumphantly over her, but she retaliated and kicked him in the throat, a blow that would have incapacitated a human. As it was it merely stunned him, giving her enough time to get to her feet.

He lunged for her, getting her feet and bringing her down on her stomach, pulling her toward her. She kicked him in the face, but he managed to pull her underneath him. She elbowed him hard in the stomach, then between his ribs. He grunted as she scrambled out from under him and spun her leg, delivering a blow to his chest that made him rock backward and almost lose his balance. Annoyed, Spike rocked forward and into a crouch, springing forward and tackling Jocelyn to the ground. She kicked and clawed beneath him, struggling to get onto her back and knee him in the groin. She was hot, hotter than the girl had been, and it made him very conscious of the pulsing blood being pumped through her veins. Her scent clogged his nostrils, and it wasn't hard for his thoughts to turn in another direction entirely.

He had her legs pinned, but she hit him in a tender spot in his ribs and he had to sit up, giving her a window to connect the bottom of her hand with his nose. He snarled, knowing that she would for his heart and end it.

"Will," she gasped, "get off. I can't breathe." Alarmed, he shifted his weight off of her, realizing that his right knee had been in her diaphragm. "Thanks," she wheezed. She started to get up, but hissed and fell back down.

"Damn," he muttered. He'd hurt her. "Where does it hurt?" She shook her head and tried to wave him off, but he was already running his hands down her torso. He stopped when she drew in her breath sharply. Gently, Spike lifted her shirt and stared at the discolored skin. He hadn't done it. It was a partially healed scar, but the pale pink of new skin was now angry and red as a result of their sparring.

"How did I miss this?" he wondered aloud. She chuckled.

"You're exceptionally unobservant when your attention is otherwise engaged." There was a small gasp. The potentials had made their way over to them, whispering rapidly.

"Wow. You almost had him," Buffy said reluctantly. She frowned. "What happened there?"

"I fell on something sharp and pointy," Jocelyn said between gritted teeth. She let Spike clasp her arms and pull her to her feet.

"Was it made of silver and belong to something tall and ugly?" Spike muttered. Jocelyn glared at him.

"Yes, and he wasn't very happy when I gave it back." Spike seethed in quiet frustration, his annoyance warring with his desire to find that ugly thing and tear it in half. Buffy cleared her throat.

"Let's keep moving? We've got a long night ahead of us." She was curious about what Jocelyn had been doing before she came the Sunnydale, and even more curious about who she'd be working for when she left. If she ever left. She divided her time between avoiding the girls, Andrew, and Anya, all of who were fascinated by her, and cat napping in the basement. With Spike. Inwardly she groaned. She was not jealous of Jocelyn. She was not jealous of Jocelyn. She cast a sidelong glance at the bounty hunter, who walking slowly off to the side. Spike was striding solidly along behind her, muttering under his breath. And the girls… the girls were off to one side in a clump, jostling each other as they tried to work up the nerves to ask Jocelyn something. It was going to be a long night.


	14. Chapter 14

Jocelyn hated the cold. Not just because she looked ridiculous in snow pants and a parka, or because snow goggles left lines on her face, but because for someone whose core temperature stayed above boiling, cold meant death. She had to keep moving, always moving, keep her blood from becoming sluggish. It cooled her skin and let her pass as human, but this high in the Himalayas it became the enemy. If she stopped moving.

The Sherpas' gazes slid over her as she shuffled down the street. Bent over beneath her layers, they took her for one of them. She squinted through the falling snow, looking for the only bar in this remote village, tucked away on the highest point in the world.

The door slammed shut behind her. It was empty. Even at the end of the earth, drinking at noon was still considered taboo. She made her way awkwardly toward the bar, where the bartender was rubbing down the wood with a towel and humming to himself. Her heavy boots announced her presence before she'd stomped her way up to the bar.

"If a crocodile cannot swim, how will it die: Of drowning or starvation?" Jocelyn ripped off her snow mask and pushed her sweaty bangs out of her face.

"That is the stupidest question I've ever heard," she growled. The bartender didn't pause in his cleaning.

"And Yaris is a stickler for tradition," he said, reaching for a clean bar towel and glancing up at her. Jocelyn rolled her eyes as he began wiping down a glass.

"Neither if the hunter gets to it first," she said pointedly. The man grinned, showing his yellow teeth.

"Close enough." He gestured for her to go around to the door behind him. She did so, trudging toward the door. She stiffened when she felt something smack her behind. The bartender continued wiping as if nothing had happened, but she caught sight of his tail as he pulled it back underneath his coat. She turned and continued to the door, walking through it with a satisfied smirk when the bartender let out a yelp. His trousers had suddenly caught on fire.

Jocelyn emerged on the other side of the doorway, her heavy parka transformed into a long red coat studded with rubies. The heels of her boots didn't echo on the wooden floorboards. The noise from the gambling tables, hawkers, and the black market in general drowned them out.

She'd strolled leisurely through the crowd, her gaze sliding over the gambling tables and hot springs as she made her way through the cesspool of ornamental hangings and golden idols. The private gaming room wasn't any less smoky than the rest of the place, though it was slightly quieter. Yaris didn't like to be bothered by hawkers and dealers.

She sat down at his table, where a serving girl appeared to slip the heavy coat from her shoulders. The black halter with no back was designed not to show off her body, but the tattoo carved into the skin of her left shoulder. The elaborate dragon twined around a sword was more effective than a calling card. The enchanted wooden walls kept the heat in nicely, and Jocelyn relaxed in the tropical sauna Yaris had created.

"It's always a pleasure to see the Phoenix," Yaris remarked, plucking a card from the hand he held in his tail. The other player groaned and threw his down on the table, getting up to leave. "What brings you to this end of the world?"

"I wanted to borrow a magic carpet," she replied dryly, lifting the goblet of fire whiskey from the tray the serving girl brought and tipping the burning liquid into her mouth, pinkie out.

"You want to talk household furnishings at a time like this?" Yaris said doubtfully, gathering the displaced cards. Jocelyn swallowed.

"Well I'll admit riding a magic carpet in winter is a bit uncomfortable, but coming down off these mountains too fast gives me the bends and I don't want to walk." Yaris chuckled quietly.

"I always did appreciate your sense of humor," he said, shuffling the cards. "But I was rather hoping you could offer information about events in the West? For a price?" Jocelyn smiled ruefully, belying the coldness that suddenly crept down her spine. Word was spreading. How much did he know? Were there groups ready to ally themselves with the First?

"I hardly think that the Red Sox winning the world series is of note to my profession," she answered glibly, taking another sip and watching him over the rim of her goblet. He was getting annoyed. Good.

"Surely in your various travels you've heard of the force gathering in the West?" he continued, dealing out a new game between the two of them. "Perhaps the identity of the players has reached your ears?" Jocelyn lifted her hand to her mouth and blew gently, blowing smoke onto the cards Yaris laid before her. They rose gently on a cloud before her. She nonchalantly studied them, before flicking her finger and causing two red firestones to roll into the center of the table.

"Hit me," she said languidly. Yaris used his tail to irritably push another card across the table. His fur was practically standing on end as he matched her bid.

"I wanted to pay a call on Harlene," she drawled, pretending to study her cards, when in reality she new perfectly well that she had won the hand. "I was hoping you knew where she'd relocated to. I don't seem to have her new address in my book." Yaris gave a start.

"The recluse sorceress?" he sputtered. Inwardly Jocelyn grinned at the neat curve-ball she'd thrown. Outwardly she maintained a serene smile. "You want to look at her collection?" Jocelyn pouted visibly.

"I'm offended that you don't think of me as appreciative of the arts," she said. "Just because I kill people doesn't mean that I can't also be an antiquarian." She plucked three cards from her hand and laid them on the table. "Although I have to say it would be interesting to combine the two." Yaris dropped his cards and sat back in his chair, snapping his fingers to summon another server.

"What's winning and losing between friends?" Jocelyn said. Yaris waved the girl away.

"She was in Germany last I heard," he said dryly as Jocelyn stood.

"Thank you," she said, holding her arms out as the girl appeared on cue with her coat. "Sorry to cut the game short." She shrugged her shoulders into it. He eyed it appreciatively.

"That's quite a collection of rubies you have," he commented. She grinned.

"I never travel without collateral."


	15. Chapter 15

Jocelyn's father had owned a pack of hunting dogs. They grew from sleek, pure-bred pups into a perfectly synchronized pack capable of bringing down a stag. She'd threatened, in her youthful arrogance, to sick them on various men who she perceived to be affronting her dignity. A part of her therefore, the part that wasn't trying to keep the rest of her in one piece, was able to appreciate the irony of her current situation.

"Easy, boy," she warned, backing slowly away from the five pairs of smoking nostrils before her. The reptilian eyes looked eerily out of place in the heads of the otherwise healthy looking beagles. Harlene would have hell-hounds.

A spurt of fire shot out of the mouth of the leader, and five snapping nostrils lunged for her. She turned and fled. Harlene was talented. She hadn't been to dissipate, to move through the pockets between the air molecules as soon as she'd hopped over the gate. So as undignified as it was, she ran. Being fireproof wasn't much defense against five sets of sharp teeth.

By reflex she tossed a fireball over her shoulder, knowing it wouldn't do any good. Dragons. Harlene had to transfigure dragons. There was a tree ahead of her, an ancient oak spiraling up to embrace the sky. She lunged for it, grabbing the first branch and heaving herself up. She felt a vicious tug on her coat and hooked her legs around the branch, pulling herself around to rest on the limb as the demon beagle ripped a chunk from her coat. Harlene would pay for that. She liked that coat.

The beagles circled the tree, sitting on their haunches and growling. Jocelyn groaned. All of this for a damn manuscript. This weapon had better be worth it. She stood and balanced precariously on the tree branch, pushing all her considerable firepower into heating the air beneath her. She felt herself begin to rise, and, keeping her palms flat, nudged herself off the branch. She shuddered as she felt herself dip, the dragons growled in anticipation, but she pushed herself up and steered her body inch by agonizing inch over to the dilapidated Gothic monstrosity the sorceress called home. The sweat ran from her pores in a steady drip that could hardly be called glistening. The dogs followed her, circling under her like wingless vultures. She felt herself dip lower and lower, until, when the dogs started to jump at her booted feet, she put all her energy into on thrust and leapt for the gargoyle.

She clung indecently to it for a moment, panting with the effort of her exertion.

"Well are you going to hang there and molest my statuary or are you going to come in?" an irritated voice said through the window. Grumbling, Jocelyn pulled herself up by the windowsill and swung into the room. A cup of tea was immediately thrust upon her, causing her to back up and almost fall back out the window.

"Thanks for inviting me in," she said sarcastically, taking the tea and automatically taking a sip. She grimaced. "Lovely flavor."

"What exactly do you want?" the sorceress stated, crossing her arms in annoyance. "You must want it pretty badly to pull that kind of stunt." A pair of intelligent green eyes waited for her response behind a pair of absurdly large spectacles, framed by strands of ginger hair sticking out randomly from the pile atop her head. There was a black smudge across her left cheek, the only blemish on otherwise flawless skin. Jocelyn set her tea delicately atop a pile of books.

"I need to examine a manuscript," she began. Harlene sniffed.

"And what do you think gives you the right to do that?" she asked. Wordlessly Jocelyn slipped one arm out of her coat and showed her back to the sorceress. The other woman rolled her eyes.

"You bounty hunters," she muttered, turning towards the door and motioning for Jocelyn to follow. "Always wanting something. Think some tattoo gives them the right to barge in, unannounced, I might add, and make demands on folk minding their own business."

"I'm sorry, I must have dropped my calling card," Jocelyn bitingly replied as they reached the end of the hallway. Harlene stopped.

"Which one are you looking for you?" Jocelyn told her. Harlene raised a startled eyebrow and suddenly seemed very interested.

"Whatever for?" she asked curiously. Jocelyn rolled her eyes.

"Do you really think I can tell you that?" she said pointedly. The sorceress sniffed.

"No need to be rude," she muttered. Then, more audibly, "just tell the door what you want." And Jocelyn, by now accustomed to these kinds of things, did just that and strode through.


	16. Chapter 16

Jocelyn was a bit beyond irritated. The stupid thing had been under her nose the entire time. If she hadn't been so _preoccupied_, she could have handed the thing over and- no. Timing was everything with these things. And the Slayer needed more time. The girls needed more time. She sighed, leaning back in the hard chair remembering at the last minute not to touch her eyes with her dust covered hands. Timing was everything. Hell, they hadn't even been tried in battle yet.

Then she heard it. It started as an annoying buzzing in the back of her head, then suddenly it was a sharp tug. Pulling at her to become shapeless, to disappear and reappear somewhere else.

She could feel the headache building. She stood and stumbled toward the door, shouting 'Harlene!' at the wood. The sorceress met her as she toppled through the door.

"What have you done?" she shouted in panic, sensing a hole beginning to unweave in her tightly woven net.

Jocelyn couldn't respond. All of her energy was focused on holding herself together, on denying an impulse that her blood oath, forged oh so long again, was compelling her to obey. The hole grew wider.

Harlene shrieked in rage as the fabric of her spells began to unweave. The air around them cackled as the giant shield buckled and gave way under a force much older and greater than itself. There was a bang as the entire thing collapsed, and a rush of air as the vortex opened in the center of the room. Jocelyn practically threw herself into the center of it, threw herself onto the mercies of the hands that waited to pull her through.

Spike blinked. He raised his head cautiously, then quickly set it back down on the floor. The chip must've shocked his brain more than he'd thought. He could have sworn he'd see Warren standing in the living room. He shook his head, trying to shake off the last of the stars that were dancing in front of his eyes. He turned his ahead. Yep. Warren was still standing there. But no one was screaming "First", probably because- he blinked again. Because Xander was feeling him up? Spike quickly laid down again and closed his eyes. What nightmare had he stumbled into? Although, he had to admit, he'd always had suspicions about that boy after he'd called off his wedding.

"Spike?" Buffy said. He opened his eyes to see the Slayer leaning over him, her eyes filled with concern. "Is it the chip?" He nodded, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position.

"Yea," he said, resting his arms on his knees. "It gave me a real trip this time." Buffy frowned, her mind working. "What was that all about?" he asked, pointing towards the door where Warren was leaving with Kennedy. It was his turn to frown. He'd thought for sure she was-

"Willow's having some problems," Buffy supplied. Spike nodded. That explained a lot.

"Sounds like a gross understatement if you me," the vampire said, rising to his feet and tottering. The Slayer caught his arm with one hand, putting the other on his stomach to steady him. He raised an eyebrow as her hand lingered there, then watched in amusement as she quickly pulled it away.

"Do you know where Jocelyn is?" she said hurriedly, putting several steps between them as she walked into the living room. Spike leaned against the doorframe.

"You're the one with the contract," he reminded her. "Call her." Buffy looked quizzically at him.

"Do you have her number?" Spike shook his head.

"You're bound by blood," he told her. "Just holler." He gestured hap-hazardly at the ceiling. Buffy looked doubtful.

"Jocelyn?" she said timidly.

"Uh, Buff, what are ya doing?" Xander asked.

"She's calling Jocelyn," Anya said, coming to stand next to the Slayer. "She's the only one who can find Giles quick enough. Though you're not doing it loud enough."

"What's Giles gone and done?" Spike asked.

"He may have died," Anya told him. "We had this conversation while you writhing in pain on the floor." Buffy sighed.

"Jocelyn?!" she yelled. Nothing.

"Maybe she's busy," Anya said.

"Or far away," Dawn chimed in. "Try saying it louder." Xander rolled his eyes.

"Jocelyn?" Buffy tried again self-consciously. Silence. She looked at Spike, who motioned for her to try again.

"I think the chip has finally fried Spike's brain," Zander whispered. Andrew laughed nervously.

"I heard that," Spike said, shooting Zander a dirty look. Andrew stopped abruptly.

"Why doesn't Spike try?" Dawn suggested. The vampire glared at her.

"Because Buffy's the one with the contract."

"JOCELYN?" Buffy called at the ceiling. Nothing.

"I told you this was a stupid idea," Zander said triumphantly. "Of course since Captain Peroxide suggested it-"

"It's not like she uses a cell-phone you half-wit," Spike shot back. "She's-" He was interrupted as the ceiling opened up, throwing them and the living room furniture against the wall as black tentacles, throbbing with electricity, reached out and out as the hole expanded. Dawn screamed as one of the arms lashed out toward her. Spike covered her with his body, knocking her to the floor as a figure was spat from the swirling vortex and landed on the floor in a crumpled heap. The hole spiraled in on itself, pulling the chairs and couch to the center of the room before becoming a black knot and vanishing.


	17. Chapter 17

"Jocelyn?" Buffy asked cautiously, poking her head around the corner from the dining room.

"Under here," came the muffled reply. "There's a chair on me." Spike released Dawn and crossed the room, picking up the chair with one hand and reaching down to pull up his wife with the other. The two exchanged a brief look before the bounty hunter's knees gave out. He caught her, dropping the chair on Zander's foot.

"Owe!" he complained, jumping up and down in pain.

"Sor-" Spike shook his head as he helped Jocelyn to her feet. "Who am I kidding? No I'm not. Woah, easy." Jocelyn's knees had buckled again, causing her to almost slip from his grasp. He wrapped it arms around her waist and pulled her upright. "You gonna be alright?"

"Yes," she said, as his arms began to unwind. "Don't let go," she ordered, crossing her arms and gripping his wrists. "My equilibrium's off."

"Nice entrance," Anya said as she pulled herself to her feet. "A bit showy, but highly effective."

"What was wrong with your normal flashy entrance?" Zander muttered, hopping backward.

"I need to sit down," Jocelyn said, swaying in Spike's grasp. "The world's still spinning." Spike leaned over, grabbing the discarded chair with and righting it while trying to keep Jocelyn from slipping from his grasp. She sank into it, laying her head down on her knees and covering it with her arms. Maybe the darkness would quiet her throbbing head. Spike, who had been pacing like a caged animal since his wife left, hovered anxiously behind her, torn between admiring her exposed back and worrying about her headache.

"Are you ok?" Buffy asked, joining the group in the center of the room. "You're not going to be sick, are you?" She wrinkled her nose.

"You try being torn apart then forcibly yanked from halfway across the world and we'll see how you feel," came the muffled reply. "I feel like I've been put through a blender." Her center of gravity was still stuck to the ceiling, the layers that bound her to the Guild were all jumbled up with her own, and the unfulfilled oath, always there just beneath her skin, had been pushed to the surface and was gnawing at the inside of her skull. "Can this wait?"

"Well seeing as how Giles could be the First and he's out with all the potentials, I'm going to go with 'no'," Zander said, perching on the overturned sofa and rubbing his injured foot.

"Well that was stupid," Jocelyn said, looking up and wincing at the light. "Why would you let your only hope walk out the door with homicidal root of all evil?"

"We only recently found out that he may have been beheaded in England," Buffy said, bristling.

"And what brought you to this brilliant conclusion?" Jocelyn murmured, closing her eyes and massaging her temples.

"He hasn't hugged anyone since he got back," Anya chimed in. Spike snorted.

"He's British," he said. "We only show affection to dogs and horses." Jocelyn opened her mouth to comment, then shrugged and nodded in agreement.

"Here." She opened to eyes to see everyone watching as Dawn nudged at her shoulder with a soda can. "It's Ginger Ale. It'll help with your motion sickness." Jocelyn looked from the can to the girl, raised an eyebrow, and took the can.

"Thanks," she said, taking a sip with, Spike noted, her pinkie raised.

"Can you find Giles?" Buffy asked impatiently, anxious to move past her younger sister's display of thoughtfulness.

"Where did he go?" Jocelyn asked through the metal in her mouth. Buffy threw up her hands.

"They're camping somewhere in the desert, outside of town," she said helplessly. "To the south, I think." Jocelyn looked up in disbelief.

"Somewhere in the desert?" she said incredulously. "That's it? I almost get pulled into a million tiny pieces trying to get here and all you have is somewhere in the desert?" Buffy opened her mouth to reply but Xander beat her to it.

"What, the big bad bounty hunter can find a vampire but she can't find a bunch of teenagers?"

"What it or I'll tear you apart," Jocelyn and Spike shot back in unison.

"Can't you find Spike the same way?" Dawn asked anxiously as the two glanced back at each other with an intrigued expression. Inwardly Jocelyn sighed. This job was going to kill her. Death she could come back from, but losing him twice… It would end, she reminded herself. But she was so tired.

"What none of you seem to understand is that I'm not a bloody Energizer battery," she said tersely. "What I do takes energy. You should know that. Tapping into magic has consequences, _always_." She looked up at them as they shifted uncomfortably. They knew that better than anyone. "Where's Willow?" she asked. "She'll back me up."

"Willow's, uh…" Buffy said, struggling for words.

"Having personality issues," Anya supplied.

"You can say that again," Xander muttered.

"Having per-"

"Anya," Xander said, holding up a hand. "It's an expression." Jocelyn bowed her head, closing her eyes and concentrating. The oaths floated beneath her skin, slowly tightening around her. She couldn't possibly add a third. Unless…

"Alright," she said, raising her head. "I'll do it. Let's go. But Buffy and Spike are coming with me." She felt the older oath relax slightly. Technically this counted as aiding the Slayer. Indirectly. She glanced behind her at Spike. The vampire was shaking his head. She frowned.

"My chip's acting up," he said. "I can't risk it going off in a fight."

"What chip?" Jocelyn asked. "Like a neural chip?"

"It's a long story," Buffy cut in hastily. She eyed the bounty hunter warily. "What exactly will this entail?"

"Holding my hand," Jocelyn said, rising. "And praying that I don't leave one of yours behind. You're going to need it if there's Bringers." Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but Jocelyn grabbed her hand and the world went black.


	18. Chapter 18

The warlord eyed the snarling Turok-Han doubtfully, straining at the chain wound round its neck as the eyeless Bringers on either side struggled to hold the snapping creature back.

"You're sure it can be manipulated?" he asked. Buffy, or what appeared to be Buffy, tossed her golden hair over her shoulder and sighed impatiently.

"Yes," she said, for what seemed like the thousandth time. "Do we have a deal?" The warlord nodded reluctantly.

"Good," the petite blonde said. "Get rid of the bounty hunter, and it'll be open season on slayers." Her frame suddenly grew taller and her sun-kissed hair turned dark. "Do it exactly as I've instructed," 'Jocelyn' ordered. "Or it won't work." The warlord bowed, put his hand to his breast in salute, and marched out of the cavern, motioning for the Bringers to follow him.

He met his lieutenant at the entrance to a side passageway, glancing behind him at the hooded figures as the pulled the creature along.

"My lord, what's the point of this?" his subordinate asked. "The Phoenix will only rise from her ashes, as she's always done." The warlord fixed a steely glare on his inferior.

"Don't bother yourself with the details," he said gruffly. "This is our chance to rid ourselves of the Phoenix _and_ the Slayer. Any more questions and I'll feed you to _that_." He gestured to the Turok-Han advancing on them. "Are the legions ready?" The lieutenant wet his lips.

"Yes, my lord, we opened the portal beneath the seal." The warlord nodded.

"Good." He glanced over his shoulder. "And tell the men to stay clear of that _thing_."


	19. Chapter 19

To Buffy it felt as if she was being pulled through the stars, shooting through the universe in a million directions at once. She couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't speak, could only feel the pressure ahead of her, tunneling her through the blackness to the light blinking in the distance. Jocelyn was aware, fixed on the light ahead of her, the picture firmly fixed in her mind before they left, pushing them through the emptiness by sheer force of will. The light came up to meet them, swallowing them. Buffy was blinded by it, raising a hand to shield her eyes and stumbling forward, falling and hitting the ground.

The ground. She reached out, grasping her fingers in the dirt. Her eyes flew open. It was solid.

"It's rather rough when you're traveling in the sidecar," Jocelyn commented from above her. Cheeks burning, Buffy pulled herself to her feet, brushing her hands on her pants. They were smack in the middle of the desert. At night. Alone. She shivered.

"I don't see them," the Slayer grumbled. Jocelyn glanced around the deserted landscape, the endless dirt broken by a few spindly plants here and there. Nothing moved.

"Don't touch anything," she ordered, closing her eyes. Buffy opened her mouth but lost her retort in a gasp as color exploded around her. A hazy purple film had been dropped over her the scene, dotted with a trillion points of light. White lights, in clusters of a million or million, twinkling merrily against the violet backdrop, red lights, dull, lusterless, moving slowly like a heard of ants crawling across a landscape, and surrounding them, encircling them, a clear, brilliant blue that arced overhead and clashed the black beneath their feet that stretched eager hands toward them.

"Don't move," Jocelyn said. Buffy paused in lifting her foot, the bounty hunter's voice echoing eerily, bouncing off the points of light and traveling further and further until it was lost in the eons. She slowly put her foot down, on what, she had no idea, and watched as Jocelyn reached forward, pulling, and then they were rushing into- no, the picture was coming at them- she shook her head. Maybe both?

The white lights twinkled around Buffy's head, swirling around her like faeries, and it was difficult to resist reaching out and touching them, when she wanted to watch them alight on the palm of her hand. The picture shifted again, and again, and again, until they were surrounded by a blanket purple empty except for a cluster of white near Jocelyn's left eye. Satisfied, the bounty hunter reached out and touched the little bundle, jerking them forward as the scene fell away.

Buffy blinked. They were standing in front of a campfire, with several pairs of eyes staring at them in shock. One of them fell over, hitting the ground behind her log.

"Buffy?" Giles asked, puzzled. "What-" She didn't give him time to answer, throwing herself at him and knocking him to the ground with a loud 'omph'.

"Buffy, what on earth-"

"You're not dead!" she said triumphantly, pulling away from him. "Oh, what the hell." She reached forward and gave him a hug.

"Obviously," the Watcher said, confusedly patting the slayer on the back. "As much as I appreciate the affection would you mind getting off of me? I think you've kneed my kidney."

"Oh, sorry," Buffy said guiltily, extricating herself and pulling Giles to his feet.

"Might I ask what you're doing here?" he asked, taking off his glasses and examining them for damage.

"We got word that you'd been killed by Bringers in England," Buffy explained. "We thought you were the First."

"Ah," he said, wiping his lenses and perching them once again on his nose. "I see. I do have a few tricks up my sleeve, thank you very much. In fact, I'd be happy to tell you-"

"Uh, Mr. Giles," Rona piped up. "Jocelyn's not looking too hot." Buffy swiveled to see a nauseous looking Jocelyn leaning against the car.

"Either we go now, or you don't get all your limbs back with you," she said, staggering, zombie-like, towards the campfire.

"We'll talk later," Buffy promised, going forward to meet the bounty hunter.

"Do you mind telling me how you found-" but the two had already disappeared in a cloud of smoke. One of the Brits nudged Rona.

"People come and go so quickly here."


	20. Chapter 20

Jocelyn tumbled into the living room, her knees and elbows painfully hitting the floor. She slid onto her side, groaning as her body continued to vibrate painfully. Her eyes came to rest on the pair of hobnailed boots, and rose slowly over his obsidian armor to the smile as wicked as the rams horns that sprouted from his head.

"Hello, Phoenix." A terrifying roar came from behind her as she was grabbed and yanked roughly to her feet, then all of the air went of out of her lungs as something powerful slammed into her, ripping her from the commander's arms.

The Turok-Han, driven mad by her scent, lunged for her and carried them both into the wall behind the couch. The monster batted the bounty hunter around like a rag doll, the high back of the sofa driving into her lower back as her head ricocheted off the picture frame hanging above it. Growling, the creature took her by the throat and with one hand pulled her off and shoved her onto the couch. Choking, she found herself forced to meet its frenzied gaze as it snapped its jaws and bent over her. As its cruel jaws came down to meet her she saw the flicker of understanding behind its eyes and knew that its mind was not its own.

Jocelyn screamed as its teeth ripped into her flesh, out of shock more than pain. Half of her body was pinned underneath the weight of the beast; the stench of decay overwhelmed her senses and made her stomach turn. The other half of her body spilled oddly onto the floor, the smoky limbs trying to fade away yet still attached to the flesh being ravaged by the vampire. With effort she pulled herself together as the creature released her neck, raising a clawed hand to its neck and slitting its own throat. Her vision spun as it leaned over her, grabbing her by the corners of her mouth and forcibly tipped her head back, using the back of her throat to catch the droplets of blood that fell from the cut. She choked, trying to cough it up, but its claws clamped her mouth shut, cruelly putting another grimy hand over her nose, forcing her to swallow. It slid sluggishly down her throat. Someone pulled the monster off of her as the rest of her body became solid, but it didn't matter. That's when the burning started.

Spike came to to the sound of fighting. The horned soldiers had taken them by surprise, swarming into the house from all directions. He'd started in on one but the bloody chip misfired and the soldier pushed him to the ground like a child. They'd left him to writhe on the floor, ignoring him as they rounded up the others. He kept still after the pain subsided, using his other senses to understand what was happening.

He smelled the Turok-Han immediately. Its stench covered nearly everything else; the unfamiliar scent of the soldiers and the panic coming off of the humans in waves. The smoky, sweet scent was mingled with the smell of decay. When it started to change he knew something was wrong.

Jocelyn's screams pulled him to his feet and into his demon face. His gaze caught on the other vampire's bleeding neck, his nose caught the scent of her blood, and with a primal roar he sank into a crouch and lunged at the Turok-Han.

The chip sent shocks deep into his brain, but Spike neither noticed nor cared. The entirety of his supernatural being had zeroed in on the screams of his mate, and the invention of man was powerless in the wake of something ancient and primal. It overrode the human part of him as Spike gave himself over completely to his vampiric nature that told him one thing: kill.

The beast reared up in anger as Spike landed on its back, trying to buck the younger vampire off. Spike held on with his knees, closing both hands around the thick neck and twisting. The sickening sound of bone breaking only fueled his rage. He twisted the other way, then other, again and again as he rode the wildly struggling Turok-Han. With a satisfying crunch the vampire's head came clean off, and Spike was dropped onto the couch as the creature turned to dust. He turned to look out onto the living room, where the fight had stopped. Dawn was staring at him in open-mouthed horror from behind the arm of the horned soldier who held her. The slayer and the warlord were looking at him with equal expressions of shock. Everyone merely stood their wide-eyed and gaping.

"Anyone else want a go around?" he snarled, still in game face. The warlord make a clicking noise and a sharp cutting motion with his hand. Immediately the soldiers dropped their hostages and scampered through the now open window and into the night.

Spike turned his head back to Jocelyn, who was writhing beneath him. He reared up with a snarl and bent over her, intent on sucking it out of her, but came up cursing in blinding pain. Shaking his head he bent forward again, only to come up clutching his head once more. He made for a third go when he felt strong arms pull him back.

"Spike, stop it," Buffy yelled. Spike shook his head, pulling against the slayer's grasp.

"I'm the only one who can get it out of her." The slayer heaved with her considerable strength as Spike pulled against her, and for a moment the two sea-sawed dangerously back and forth. The voice of reason came from a surprising source.

"Killing yourself won't help her," Anya said, rubbing her arms where the demon had been holding her. Spike stopped straining, reluctantly letting his face return to normal. He heard an oomph as Buffy fell against his back.

"We can get the chip out," Buffy said, sitting up and rubbing her chin.

"What's happening?" Dawn asked softly, clearly disturbed as another of Jocelyn's more piercing shrieks rent the air. She stood near Xander, hugging herself.

"She's turning into a vampire," Spike said. "Bloody-" He ducked as one of Jocelyn's arms came up, spewing fire haphazardly into the air.

"Is that even possible?" Xander asked, wincing as Jocelyn's back arched dangerously, Spike holding her down so she didn't break in half.

"She's stuck," Anya said matter-of-factly. "She can't be reborn dead. So she's stuck. She can't die." As the weight of that statement settled on their shoulders, another of Jocelyn's screams rent the air.

"We need ice," Spike said, jumping up to stand near her head. He motioned for Buffy to grab her feet. "Lots and lots of ice."

They carried her, twisting, up the stairs to the bathroom, Spike sitting on her in the bathtub until they came with bags and bags of ice. He held her down while they poured it over her, climbing out when her movements became sluggish. They filled the tub to the brim, and eventually the thrashing stopped.

"That'll slow her heart, make the blood sluggish," he said, looking at the still form in the bathtub. Her skin was quickly turning blue. "Though if we leave her too long she might not wake up." He turned to Buffy. "We're going back to the Initiative." Buffy nodded.

"Let me make a call first."

She was burning, so she was dying. But something was wrong. The burning was right, the ripping was right, but every time she tried to leave her body she was pulled back in. Rip, pull, rip, pull, a never-ending cycle of pain, white-hot pain licking at her limbs, brushing all over her with its fiery tongue. She wasn't supposed to be in her body as it burned. She was supposed to up there, watching. She used to hate dangling there, suspended between the light and the darkness, but it was better, anything was better than this. Why couldn't she die?


	21. Chapter 21

_Jocelyn sat in the parlor, sipping her tea and worrying. She looked down and sighed. Her fingers were clenched around her robe, crunching the silk and ruining it. She released the robe that was bearing the brunt of her frustration and set the teacup down on the saucer. William would be alright, she reminded herself. He had Tom, and Piers, and all the stable hands to help him. _

_ She sat back on the seat in a huff, tapping her fingers on the gilt arm. She should be out there, carrying water or doing __something__ to help. Just because she was a woman didn't mean she was useless. But William had insisted. It wasn't safe, he'd argued as he'd pulled on his trousers. And besides, she wasn't dressed properly. It'd be indecent for her to be out in her negligee in front of the entire household. She'd pointed out that she would be wearing a robe, but he'd threatened to lock her in her bedroom if she tried to escape. So here she sat, drinking cup after cup of tea in the parlor, while he ran off, in only his shirt and trousers, mind you, to help the boys. It was only a little fire. A knock at the door interrupted her mental grumbling. _

_ "Yes?" she said eagerly. Perhaps the fire had been put out. She did hope that the horses had gotten away unharmed. She frowned. "What is it Hadley?" The normally impervious butler was standing in the doorway with a look of decided unease._

_ "Madam, I apologize for the disturbance, but there is a gentleman here to see you." She didn't miss his hesitation at the word 'gentleman'._

_ "Nonsense, Mr. Hadley, I can't possibly receive visitors at this hour or in this state." She waved him away. "Please tell whoever it is that they may leave a card or come again in the morning." The older man nodded, but she could see the sweat beading on his ancient brow._

_ "Of course, Madam. But the count was very insistent." He made a small bow and left the room. Jocelyn rose quickly to her feet, shutting the door as she heard the sound of a gunshot in the hall. The count didn't need an introduction. With shaking hands she pulled her keys from her robe pocket, fumbling through them before she found the one she was looking for. She shoved it into the lock and turned it just as the door shuddered._

_ "Unlock the door, Jocelyn, you're being rude," came a familiar voice. Without hesitation she yanked the key from the door and ran across the room, pulling open the glass doors and fleeing into the garden as another gunshot sounded behind her, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood._

_ She screamed, gripping her skirts as she raced through the roses, tulips, peonies, and violets, whose lovely scents she usually stopped to delicately sniff. Tonight they held no comfort for her as she sprinted through the lovingly tended Eden until she reached the patio, heaving one of their new wrought iron chairs, ordered specifically from Paris, through the glass panes separating her from the safety of her home. _

_ "You can't hide from me, Eve," came the voice of the Devil as she tossed the chair aside, thrusting her hand through the hole and fumbling with the key, desperately trying to fit in into the lock._

_ "Darling," came the voice again, lower, closer, as she heard the telltale click the heralded her relief. She pushed open the great oak doors, turning to push them closed when she saw him emerge from darkness of the garden. Grabbing the keys, she turned and fled down the length of the table, coming up short at the second set of locked doors, locking her in the dining room._

_ "Come now, Jocelyn, we both know there's no point in running," he said, gliding over the broken glass. Her wild gaze slid over his advancing form, alighting on the door to the pantry where the servants prepared the food._

_ "You're not welcome in this house, Mr. Wickham," she said, edging around the table that it was between them. He moved through the darkness, gliding like a panther, his green eyes seemingly more feline in the moonlight that shone through the great windows, glinting on the broken glass. She unconsciously backed up, bumping in the silver cabinet._

_ "You're being exceptionally rude, Jocelyn," the count said, stopping in front of the door. "First you don't offer me any tea, then you refuse to address me by title. Tsk, tsk."_

_ "You, sir, do not have permission to address me by my Christian name," she said coldly, though she desperately wanted to be sick. Blood pumped through her ears, sending adrenaline coursing through her. Had she imagined the distant slam of a door?_

_ "Jocelyn?" a voice called._

_ "WILLIAM!" she screamed as the count scowled and darted around the table. She turned and scrambled up onto the cabinet that contained the greater part of her dowry, wrenching open the finely carved doors and grabbing the largest meat skewer she saw as he grabbed her ankles and pulled her down. Her chin hit the edge of the cabinet, and her head swam as he threw her to the ground. He rose above her, a great, black beast, leering down at her. She raised the skewer and threw all her strength behind it, stabbing him in the groin._

_ He shrieked in pain, pulling metal instrument with a groan from his manhood and kicking her across the face. She scrambled to her feet, making for the door as her husband, who'd followed the signs of destruction, came through the doors, took one look around, and lunged for the intruder._

_ Bordering on hysteria, she rifled through her keys and jabbed at the lock on the doors, trying twice before she fit the key inside. She pushed open the doors, pulling out the key and turning to see William, shaking with righteous wrath, deliver a blow that knocked the count flat on his back. He looked up and saw her, hanging onto the door for dear life, and leapt over his opponents still breathing form to come to her._

_ "No, go back," she moaned, tears unwillingly falling from her eyes. "Go back and make sure he's really down," she whispered as he reached her, cupping her face between his hands and kissing her gently. He pulled her into his arms despite her feeble protests as the tears came down._

_ "Shh," he whispered, holding her close. "It's alright. I'm here." She clung to him, sobbing. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the black shape stir. She pushed against him as the shape rose, wraithlike, struggling against her uncomprehending husband. William. She had to save William. _


	22. Chapter 22

Spike fell back against the bathroom wall, clutching his stomach as another cramp hit him.

"Spike?" Buffy was shaking him. "Spike, are you alright?"

"Get-Jocelyn-warm," he gasped, wincing as another wave of pain in his stomach made him double over. "Bloody hell," he gasped.

"Spike, what happened?" Buffy demanded as the vampire cried out, bringing his fist down on the bathroom tile. There was an audible crunch as it crumbled beneath his hand. She pulled back in alarm as he began dry heaving, the spasms wracking his body.

" Get me…basement…now," he groaned as his body shook. She slipped her arms under his shoulders and heaved him to his feet, dragging the shaking vampire out of the vampire.

"What happened?" Dawn asked in alarm as Spike began to violently choke.

"Get Jocelyn into a bed," Buffy ordered. No one moved. "Do it now!" As the others scurried off to save Jocelyn, Buffy continued with saving Spike. They were halfway down the stairs when Spike heaved forward as a spasm rocked his body, almost sending them tumbling down the stairs together. He put both arms out to stop them, gouging the banister with one hand and punching a hole in the wall with the other. He hung there for a gruesome moment, shaking, until his body went slack.

Buffy caught him before he tumbled forward, carrying him rapidly down the stairs and into the hallway. She was scared. Scared for Spike, scared for Jocelyn, scared for all of them.

"Hurry," he moaned as she yanked opened the basement door and flew down the stairs. He collapsed on to the cot, clutching his stomach and curling into a ball.

"Spike-"

"Go!" he roared, gritting his teeth as his body rocked back and forth. Buffy ran. Up the stairs, into the hallway, slamming the door behind her and locking it. A shriek rent the air, tearing through the house. Upstairs, downstairs, outside, everyone froze. It was followed by growls, snarls, and the gnashing of teeth.


	23. Chapter 23

Jocelyn walked slowly down the stairs, peeking out from the quilt swaddling her entire body. A well-meaning person had left a soda and crackers by her bed. They had helped, but her body was still working in overdrive, directing her extra body heat to fanning the flame at her core. Thus the cold. She was freezing.

"Keep trying!" Buffy's voice floated in from the dining room. The Slayer was impatient, but there was an undercurrent of worry beneath her words.

"I'm trying." Willow's voice, pleading. "I don't know what's wrong with it. It's like it's not him. It's not Spike." A sneaking suspicion was beginning to form in the bounty hunter's mind. She eyed the gouges in the banister and hole in the wall as she made her way down the stairs, stopping when she reached the bottom step.

There were deep scratches on either side of the opening in the wall that lead from the hallway to the living room. Chunks of wood had been swiped from the paneling, as if some clawed beast had swung wildly at something in the other room.

She left the stairs and peered around the corner, where she saw Zander holding a screwdriver and eyeing the door to the basement. It hung crookedly off of the bottom hinge. There was a jagged edge where the other half of the door should have been. Her eyes followed the splinter trail. It led to the front door, which had suffered a similar fate.

"Jocelyn! I was just coming to see- oh fudge." Dawn grimaced as hot soup splashed over the side of the white bowl and on to her hands. "Ow."

"Here," she said, taking the bowl from the teenager. "Thank you," she said, putting it to her lips and drinking deeply. The hot broth scorched her throat and warmed her insides. Murmuring contentedly she continued to suck the bowl dry as Dawn watched wordlessly.

"That was excellent," she said, handing the bowl back to Dawn as the warmth settled pleasantly in the stomach.

"You know I never would have guessed that," Zander said. Dawn rolled her eyes.

"Don't you have a door to fix?" she said, taking the bowl back to the kitchen.

"Jocelyn," Buffy said in surprise, coming out from the dining room. The Slayer looked as exhausted as Jocelyn felt. "You're awake."

"I heal fast," she said, pulling the quilt back over her shoulders. Buffy raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything more. Jocelyn could imagine that the sight of her pale, sunken face looking out from beneath the quilt was rather disconcerting and odd with her words.

"Buffy, I'm sorry," Willow said, coming up behind her. "I can't get a read on him."

"It's ok, Will," Buffy said. "Thanks for trying."

"He's gone feral," Jocelyn said, catching Buffy's gaze. It was a statement, not a question. The Slayer nodded.

"The Turok-han blood's driven him mad," she said grimly. "I need to find him and fast." In her mind Jocelyn had considered various scenarios and weighed the risks in the time it took her to say,

"Let's go." Buffy frowned.

"Jocelyn, you're not in any condition-"

"I can track him," the bounty hunter said, her tone brokering no discussion. Buffy's eyes narrowed, and Willow took an unconscious step back.

"I'm the Slayer," Buffy said slowly, as if that statement justified everything. "It's my job to find him." Jocelyn took a step forward, cocking her head to one side and examining the other woman's face.

"No, it's your job to kill him," she said, staring the Slayer down. "I don't know what claim you think you have on him, but you lost the right to that a long time ago."

"I heated up some more-" Dawn stopped abruptly as she came upon her sister and Jocelyn eyeing each other like rapid she-wolves. The soup splashed over the sides of the bowl, burning her hands. "Aw, damnit, not again."


	24. Chapter 24

Buffy stomped through the graveyard in a huff, making enough noise to bring every vampire running out of his crypt. Good, she thought savagely, let them come. Maybe one'll be Spike. Or maybe not. Either way, I could really use something to hit right now.

She passed by a headstone, glowering. What right did that bounty hunter have, issuing orders to _her_? In her own _house_? She was the Slayer, for crying out loud, _she_ gave the orders. _She _would be the one to find Spike. It was her right.

_Is it really?_ a small, nagging voice asked in the back of her head. _What claim do you have on him anymore? _Buffy paused in her rampage. _Didn't you even say it meant nothing?_ Mentally she tried to swat the voice away, but the thought lingered with her as she continued slowly through the silent marble forest.

Jocelyn wrapped the thick leather of Spike's jacket around herself, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. Determined, she clamped her mouth shut, gritting her teeth and forcing them to stay silent. She couldn't form a fireball or gather herself to disseminate even if she wanted to. Stealth was her only weapon. If she didn't have that, she might as well walk up to the first vampire she saw and ask him to kill her. It was suicide, but the pull of her contract, still unpaid and open, let her move forward practically on autopilot. She'd already found him once. It was William. She had to save William.

The pulling sensation grew stronger as she cautiously rounded a tree, settling to a gentle pulse at the base of her skull as she found herself looking out on to an empty clearing. Her eyes rolled upward into the branches, and she could have cried out in horror had her teeth not been clamped shut.

He was straddling two branches, crouched on all fours, ready to drop noiselessly from the air on top of the next victim to walk through the grassy space. In the light of the moon she could see blood glistening off his skin through the tatters of what had once been a black t-shirt. His shoes were gone, and his toe and fingernails had grown into grotesque claws that dug into the tree bark as he waited, coiled and ready to spring. He must have smelled her, because he looked down, and this time she did let out an involuntary gasp. His demon face was horribly exaggerated, his lips pulled cruelly over fangs that hung over his bottom lip, his yellow eyes calculating the drop from the tree from beneath hard ridges that jutted out where his eyebrows should have been.

His head jerked from her as his nostrils flared, catching the scent of something much healthier and better tasting than her. His enhanced hearing had heard the chatter of voices before hers, the high-pitched voices of teenagers as they crept through the graveyard, equal parts scared and thrilled at their daring.

"How much longer, Brad?"

"Not long, baby. You scared?"

"No, of course not." In her mind's eye she saw Brad put his arm around the girl's shoulder, saw her snuggled against his chest as he confidently led them through the graveyard. She saw his confidence turn to horror as the thing landed on top of them, heard their surprised cry as their blood was spilled and they breathed their last, not standing a chance against what was coming.

The blue letterman jacket was barely into the clearing when Spike dropped from the tree and Jocelyn leaped from her hiding place. He landed square on top of her, knocking the breath out of her but giving the quarterback time to scream and drag his girlfriend through the bushes.

Growling, Spike turned his attention to the woman he had pinned beneath him. His eyes narrowed, considering both her and the hunt she had interrupted. There was something peculiar about her scent, and in the end he adjusted his weight so that he was straddling her, clenched his claws around her arms and went for her throat.

Jocelyn saw his coming and did the only thing she could think of. She kissed him.

The movement caught the vampire by surprise, giving her precious seconds to push herself flush against him and use the full force of her body to bring him to heel and remind him once and for all that he was a man.

Snarling, he pushed her into the ground, still gripping her arms as she stubbornly forced her tongue into his mouth. He held her like that for a moment, until mercifully she felt his fangs retract and his mouth open hers.

Then he was pushing through her into the ground, and she abandoned all rational thought as he poured his excess into her. Her body responded by arching up of its own volition, as some dam inside of her broke and responded to the primal force that drove him. Fire consumed her body, she heard him snarl as her hands seared his skin as they roved over his back, arms, and neck, heard his hiss as his fangs broke the skin of her neck and her blood burned his tongue. At some point he released her, and lay next to her in the grass, completely spent. Jocelyn looked up at the stars, watching their twinkle slowly disappear as the world faded to black.


	25. Chapter 25

Jocelyn felt like she'd been put through a blender. She opened her eyes, blinking against the dancing lights that slowly faded from her vision.

"Are you insane?" he asked, his angry voice at odds with the concerned face that floated over her. "You know they have treatments for chronic pain junkies. It's called shock therapy."

"Oh you're one to talk- "she tried to sit up but fell back into his arms, gritting her teeth to conceal her groan- "You're worse than a masochist. A pleasure seeking yahoo with a penchant for pain."

"That's a song lyric, it doesn't count," he growled, but thankfully didn't try to reprimand her again. She sighed.

"Let's just agree that we can only handle that once a century." Her teeth chattered on the last word.

"Is it alright to lift you?" he asked, his voice husky. She nodded, nonetheless wincing slightly as he carefully stood up, cradling her in his arms, bridal style. "You're shaking." She just nodded. "Let's get you warm."

Buffy was shocked when she saw Spike, his shirt in bloody tatters, approach her carrying a semi-conscious Jocelyn. Now, standing beside him in the basement while he wrapped yet another blanket around her sleeping form, she saw the burns that covered his back and arms.

"That must have been some fight," she said, returning with a first aid kit. Spike's eyes darted toward her.

"Oh, right. Yea, it was something." He returned to watching Jocelyn sleep. They'd plugged a space heater in underneath the cot, draping blankets over it to trap the heat. He would get up every few seconds, walk over from his perch on a stool and bend over her, feeling her warm breath on his cheek. Then he would pad over to his stool and sit, watching. It was after one such episode that Buffy had begun to treat his wounds.

The constant pitter-patter of feet had returned along with the potentials, and every now and then Buffy and Spike would raise their heads wordlessly to the ceiling, trying to decide if they really wanted to know what was going on upstairs.

"I can tell them to be quiet," Buffy offered, putting another bandage on his back. Spike didn't flinch under her touch.

"It's fine," he said, examining his fingernails. He could still taste her on his burnt tongue, taste the sweetness through the ashes. She tasted like life, like new, and her blood was in his veins. He could feel it under the burns as they healed, feel it in his blood as it clotted, feel it in the faint flutter of his heart that suddenly seemed unsure of whether or not it was supposed to beat. It swelled as blood flowed through his arteries, gathered itself to pump life laced with decay through his body, then shuddered, shrank, and fell dead once again.

"Ah," he mumbled, as his thumbnail snapped in half. "Damn."

_He was going to be late for the meeting with his solicitor. Lately he had spent more time away from his wife than he would have preferred as a newlywed, and that was why he was still sitting on his bed, watching her sleep. Her hair was tumbled around her sleeping face, spilling down her back and shoulders in glossy curls. _

_ His wife's hair never ceased to fascinate him. He loved watching her spin one silky curl around her finger as she went over the household accounts, and he was helpless against the single curl she would sometimes leave hanging against her milky white collarbone. When she twined it around her finger with that slow, smoldering smile, he knew that there was nothing he could refuse her. Sometimes he would come into her room while she was dressing, dismiss her maid and run his fingers through her tresses while she pretended to ignore him while she finished her toilette. Inevitably his hands would fall lower, and her toilette would be forgotten. _

_ She stirred in her sleep, settling deeper into the pillow. He desperately wanted to be the kind of man she would be proud of. Of course he knew that she already was, that she had accepted him completely and would never look back, but that didn't mean he couldn't set about becoming the kind of man he thought she deserved. He'd accepted everything her father had given him, the ships, the accounts, the stake in the company. He listened to the advice of men more knowledgeable than him, diligently observed his father-in-law, and learned. _

_ What he learned he learned quickly. His mother noticed, and quietly began preparations to move into the other wing of the house, smiling and kissing him on the cheek when he'd confusedly gone to find her in her new quarters. His father-in-law noticed, and began giving his daughter and her new husband more gifts, each more extravagant than the last. Society noticed, and the girls that had giggled about him behind his back now looked out with curiosity from behind their fans. Jocelyn noticed, and took it all in with the grace and pride with which she'd been raised. Of course, he had the sneaking suspicion that she was planning on turning their home into a salon to rival the ones in Paris, with him at the very center. _

_ She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, long lashes rising and falling slowly as she blinked the sleep out of her eyes. She saw him, and her rosebud lips curved into a smile. _

_ "Good morning."_


	26. Chapter 26

"You're going to put _that_ in my nose?" Spike looked dubiously up at Giles from where he was chained to the wall.

"Since the chip is no longer in place-"

"Not that it did what was supposed to," Buffy said irritably. Jocelyn snorted from beside the Slayer. The blonde woman avoided looking over her shoulder at the bounty hunter. The enmity between them brought on by the Turok-han incident hadn't faded, settling to a dull ache that vibrated between them whenever they were in the room together.

Jocelyn was secretly glad for all the fuss Giles was making about the defunct hardware. It gave her more time to quietly study the affects of the Turok-han on the both of them without the Watcher sticking his nose into it.

"-we need to ensure that Spike won't be killing anyone," Giles continued, ignoring the stony faced women. "Especially given recent events." Jocelyn and Spike studiously avoided meeting each others' eyes at the mention of the Turok-han blood that had briefly turned him into a primal monster.

"His soul will keep him from killing people," Buffy said quietly, fixing her watcher with a steely gaze. Giles sighed in exasperation.

"As we've already seen, sometimes events spin out of our control," he said tersely. "We need to make sure that there isn't another episode."

"Can we stop talking about already?" Jocelyn said, shifting from one foot to the other. Spike resisted the urge to snort at the slightly high-pitched tone her voice had taken. Giles regarded the two with an odd look, then shook his head and turned to Willow.

"Are you ready?" The witch nodded and stepped forward with a covered petrie dish.

"And this will tell us what the trigger is?" Robin Wood said skeptically from his place against the stairs. Jocelyn flicked her gaze over the newcomer, not trusting the stranger who had had a solid place in the group when she'd woken up from her semi-comatose state.

"Yep," Willow said, sounding more certain than she looked. Spike saw the look in her eyes and backed up, hitting the wall.

"Now Red-"

"Relax, Spike, it'll be fine." She held the dish up to the vampire's face. The worm crept over the edge of the plastic and into his nose where it abruptly shot up his nasal passage, straight for his brain.

Jocelyn lurched forward as Spike cried out, gripping his temple as his eyes bulged, but suddenly fell to her knees as pain overtook her, shrieking and gripping her head in the same place.

"Willow, what did you do?" Buffy asked urgently, torn between restraining the snarling vampire or running for a fire extinguisher in case the Phoenix lost control.

"I-I don't know," the red-head said, flipping through the book she'd read the incantation from. "I thought I did everything right."

_He crumpled the paper and strode quickly from the room, trying to keep himself from crying. Be a man, he silently berated himself as he did sharp turns around the hallway. And for the love of God don't cry!_

_ "I thought it was awfully romantic." His head jerked up, and he dropped the mangled paper from his fist. Lord Callahan's daughter was walking towards him, a sympathetic smile on her lips. "Don't listen to Cecily," she said, bending gracefully to pick up the crumpled paper. "She's a bit of a snob." He watched, dumbfounded with shock, as the noblewoman opened the balled up poem and gently smoothed out the page. "It's not that bad."_

_ "It's bloody awful," he said, eyes widening at the realization that he just swore in front of a lady. "Forgive me," he said hoarsely, still rooted to the spot. To his great surprise, she laughed, a beautiful sound that seemed like sunshine in the dark place he'd been roughly shoved into._

_ "I have five brothers," she said by way of explanation. "I've heard worse." She handed him the paper. "It just needs some work," she continued, still holding out the paper and waiting for him to move. Belatedly he realized that he was being rude for the second time in two minutes. He quickly grabbed the paper from her and shoved it hastily in his pocket. "I was actually on my way out," she said, turning slightly towards the door. "I'm attending a salon at Lady Worthington's if you'd like to accompany me," she said, looking sideways at him. "There's to be a reading. I'd be happy to introduce you." He continued to stare at her like a village idiot, his mind still struggling to comprehend that she was not was mocking him from behind her fan but was in fact asking him to escort her to another noblewoman's house. _

_ "I'm not very good," he said again when he finally found his voice. She smiled._

_ "Maybe you just haven't found your muse."_

_ By the end of the night William was composing verses to her rosebud lips and the mahogany curl that hung tantalizingly on her collarbone. He found himself laughing at her witty remarks, the pithy comebacks that had the other artists rapidly scribbling on the backs of their calling cards. While the others scribbled frantically he found himself trying to catch her eye as she sipped her champagne, trying to decipher what rested behind those sparkling orbs of hazel. _

_ "Well, what do you think?" Jocelyn said to her hostess. Lady Worthington laughed and shook her head._

_ "About your latest addition to our circle?" the lady said, watching as William, emboldened by drink, began to converse earnestly with the others. "Sir Robert's son? I think your father will hardly approve of what you're doing, no matter how much he favors you over your brothers." It was Jocelyn's turn to laugh, meant to be high and carefree._

_ "I like him," she said, taking another sip of champagne. Lady Worthington watched her young protégée carefully. _

_ "You like all of them," she said softly. "And one day I worry that you'll like one of them too much." Jocelyn's smile vanished as her gaze snapped up to meet that of her mentor. "If you want to be the next __Georgiana Cavendish__," the older woman continued, watching the room, "you'd do best to follow your role model's example more closely." Jocelyn's smile was grim as she took the pointed hint. _

_ "I will marry a man of my choosing," she said with finality. "With or without the approval of my step-mother." Lady Worthington pursued her lips but said nothing._

_ "Oh but that was brilliant," Jocelyn said later in the carriage, giddy from champagne. She turned William, who was watching her with a smile on his face. "Why do you regard me so, Mr. Montgomery?" she inquired. "It gives me the most dire of apprehensions about your character." William laughed, his concern for the woman in whose carriage he rode growing. Beneath her aloof exterior he sensed that she was dangerously close to careening off the edge of something. She turned her head toward the window, humming a melody that sounded familiar. Out of habit he picked up the tune, and she turned toward the sound of his deep voice, her face white._

_ "Where did you learn that song?" she whispered, her voice offering none of the gaiety that had filled it earlier. He swallowed, hoping to add moisture to his suddenly dry throat._

_ "My mother sings it to me," he said, alarmed when tears began to trickle down her cheeks. He dug through his pocket for a handkerchief, thrusting it towards her as the tears continued to come. She just looked at him._

_ "My mother sang it to me," she said softly. "She died." In a gesture more romantic than sensible, he reached up and wiped the tears gently from her face. She started to sing again, her voice breaking against the tears that refused to stop. He picked up where she left off, singing softly to her as he wiped the tears from her eyes. _


	27. Chapter 27

Spike lurched from the cot in full game face, snarling, grabbing the leg and hurling it across the basement. It almost careened into Dawn, who threw herself to the floor with a yelp as the metal slammed into the banister and sent it splintering across the basement. Buffy leaped forward as the chains began breaking from the walls, only to have the snarling vampire catch her by the throat and lift her, legs kicking helplessly, into the air. A fireball soared through the air and crashed into his shoulder, sending his head back in a howl of rage as he dropped the Slayer and turned to meet his new foe.

Jocelyn lifted her burning her hands in front of her, but dropped them as Spike stumbled back, losing his fangs as the stone dropped to the floor. The vampire leaned against the wall, blinking furiously and shaking his head.

"Willow, take Dawn upstairs," Giles said, casting a glance at Buffy as she stood up. "Are you alright?" Buffy nodded. "What did you see, Spike?" The vampire rattled his irons.

"The stone's out, right?" he said. "You gonna unchain me?"

"What did you see?" the exasperated Watcher said tersely. "What is the trigger?" Spike rolled his eyes.

"It's called 'Early One Morning'," he said, dropping to the floor and resting his arms on his knees. "English folk diddy." He pointed to the door. "Shouldn't you be checking on the little bit? I clunked her pretty hard."

"What does the song _mean_ to you?" Giles asked, rubbing his forehead.

"Me mum sang it to me," Spike said, looking at Jocelyn. "When I was a baby. Nice lady." Giles sighed.

"And you didn't have any problems? Think hard, Spike." The vampire shrugged.

"I don't remember." Wood shook his head, glaring at the blonde chained to the wall.

"Perhaps Jocelyn can offer us some insight?" Giles turned toward the bounty hunter, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. "You were, after all- _married_ to him." Buffy and Wood looked expectantly at her.

"She was a lovely woman," Jocelyn said. Giles closed his eyes, trying to find his patience on the inside of his eyelids.

"Well then," Spike said, rising, "that's it. Trigger gone." He held out his hands expectantly.

"This is a process," Giles said. "And until you find a way to deal with your subconscious the trigger will remain active." He glanced at Jocelyn. "Are you sure you don't remember anything else? The spell did affect you, after all." Spike glanced sharply at her, but she shook her head ever so slightly.

"Nothing comes to mind," Jocelyn said with a shrug. Giles sighed.

"Fine," he said. "If the two of you refuse to coo- Buffy, what are you doing?" The blonde had already made her way towards Spike and was readying herself to unchain him. "Buffy, think about what you're doing."

"I already have," she said, unlocking first one, then the other. Giles threw up his hands, walking up the stairs with Wood close behind.

"Well that was fun," Spike said, rubbing his wrists. "Sorry about the nibblit," he said quietly. "She gonna be alright?"

"She's tough," Buffy said as Jocelyn came over to stand next to her. The Slayer looked between the two and shook her head, turning away.

"Buffy," Spike called.

"Just, work it out between yourselves," she said, giving Jocelyn a meaningful look before going up the stairs.

"What did he mean it affected you too?" Spike blurted out as soon as the door closed. "You saw what I just saw?" Jocelyn nodded.

"As soon you-flipped out," she said delicately, glancing up at him, "there was a pain in my head, and then the memory just took over."

"The night we met?" Spike asked in bewilderment. "How-?" Jocelyn shrugged helplessly.

"There's powerful magic in my blood," she said. "And you drank a lot of it." Spike held up his right hand.

"I think my fingernails are growing," he said as she took hold of it. "Broke a couple and they grew back." He noticed her raised eyebrow. "'S different than regular healing," he insisted. "It's taking a lot longer than normal. Couple days." She sighed, letting his hand go.

"I wonder what would have happened…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

"If your blood had been clean?" he finished. She nodded.

"The night we met," she said, bringing them back to the present. "Your mum didn't just sing it to you. You sang it to me, in the carriage, hum it when I was upset…"

"I remember," he said. "You were going to sing it to our children." He shook his head. "You were playing with fire," he said, remembering that night. "It would have caught up with you, you know. And you'd have found yourself married off to some Duke and shut up in his castle to avoid more scandal."

"You weren't exactly doing so hot yourself," she reminded him. He smiled ruefully.

"So we saved each other then?"

"I suppose we did." She looked him in the eye. "It wasn't your fault, you know." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"William," she said, imploring, "I know why the First can use that song against you. It reminds you of me, of the night-"

"You died?" he challenged, dropping his arms and stepping forward. "Yea, it does. It haunts me, Jocelyn, _haunts me_. Your ghost was following me around even before that thing started wearing your skin. It's bloody brilliant, really, when you think about it. Use the worst night of my life to turn me into a raving maniac."

"Is there anything I can say?" she asked helplessly, "anything?" She wrapped her arms around his waist and shook him. "It wasn't your fault, William." He ran his fingers throw his hair in frustration.

"Doesn't matter," he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I failed you. Had the chance to be a man, and I failed. Spent the rest of my unlife trying to be what I wasn't then."

"Look at me," she ordered. He looked away and shook his head, fingers still clenched in his hair. "William-" she gently pulled his head towards her and looked into his eyes- "I loved you, alright? I loved _you_. And I still do." He sighed, loosening his grip and putting his arms around her. He kissed her upturned mouth in response, resting his cheek against hers and just feeling her presence.

"Will," she said, pulling back and running a hand along his jawline. "Your beard is growing."


	28. Chapter 28

Jocelyn stopped in front of the building swarming with teenagers.

"We're going to the Bronze?" she said with a frown.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Anya said, taking her by the arm and pulling her towards the crowd rife with underage girls and college boys. "Buffy's training with Giles, the boys are off doing their thing, so this'll be our girls night out!" The bounty hunter grimaced as an already drunk teenaged girl careened into her, only to be pulled upright by her not as drunk boyfriend.

"Besides," her captor continued, pulling them through the crowd, "I can't risk showing up a demon bar. Not too popular there these days." Jocelyn died a little on the inside as they approached the bouncer. She'd always known that one day the ex-vengeance demon would back her into a corner and drag her on an outing. She'd just held out hope that the coming apocalypse would happen first.

"You live in a garage?" Spike said dubiously as Wood undid the padlock on the industrial door.

"This is my getaway," the other man responded as the lock fell open. He pushed open the door, revealing the yawning darkness of the interior. "I come here to unwind."

"Uh-huh," Spike said, stepping over the threshold. "A place to relax after a long of principal-ing? Let your hair down?" The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the two men in utter darkness. Spike's heightened hearing let him track the other man's movements through the room while he stayed rooted to the spot, using his other senses to look for traps. Buffy might trust the man, but that didn't mean he had to. Light abruptly flooded the room, and the trap became apparent.

Crosses covered every inch of the four walls, including the doors and windows.

"Bloody hell," Spike said, crossing over to the middle of the room. "What are you playing at?"

"I told you," Wood said, going to stand by the only piece of furniture, a computer desk, "this is my sanctuary. When you live on a Hellmouth, you can never be too careful."

"I think this is overkill, even for the Hellmouth," Spike said, watching as the other man turned his back to him.

"That's the kind of man I am," the other man said over his shoulder, "careful. What kind of man are you, Spike?"

"Never was one for self-reflection," the vampire responded, shifting his weight onto his back leg and sinking slightly into a defensive crouch.

"I think I know," Wood said, turning around to reveal gauntlets strapped to either arm. Spike raised an eyebrow.

"Oh do you now?" he said, mirroring his opponent's movements as the other man began to pace.

"You're a hurricane," he said, slowly circling the vampire. "You blow through life wreaking havoc and destruction, never giving a thought to anyone else" -his fingers flexed in anticipation through the metal covering his fists- "living only for the hunt and the thrill of the kill."

"Been practicing that little speech, have you?" Spike asked with a smirk, eyes never leaving his opponent. The two men stopped, having made a full circle around the room.

"Ever since you killed my mother," Wood, by the computer again, said as he put his hand over the mouse.

"I've killed a lot of people's mothers," Spike answered, eyes narrowing as he saw the screen come to life.

"You'd remember mine." Wood moved the mouse over the only song on the playlist, and clicked.

_"Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a young maid sing, in the valley below…"_

"You're here to kill me then," Spike stated as the familiar tune rolled over him, dredging the same old emotions- pain, rage, and searing loss- to the surface. The emotions hit him all at once, dragging him unwilling back to a warm night in April. Smoke was in his nostrils, screaming filled his ears, and blood was on his hands, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more, deserved more, and he lashed out to take what he had been denied.

"I want to kill the monster that murdered my mother," Wood said, watching as Spike shifted into his demon face and lunged.


	29. Chapter 29

"_No!" she screamed, shoving him off of her and pushing the door closed. "Help me," she pleaded, trying to find the right key with her shaking hands. He braced the door with his shoulder, finally understanding. BANG._

_ "William!" She shoved the key into the lock, twisting and holding the door fast. "Jocelyn!" BANG. BANG. "William!" BANG._

_ "Come on." He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her through the dark hall towards the kitchens. "The lads are still outside, you'll be safe out there." He plunged into the dark maze of serving passageways, stairways, and pantries, moving to the back of the house. She kept close to him, shaking in the thin robe and desperately trying to be strong for him. Was there really a great crash behind her, or was she imagining it? Were there really footsteps? Was that his breath she felt on her neck? His hands reaching round her waist?_

_ They burst into the night, into a cacophony of men's voices, shouting orders and calling back and forth. It was a welcome relief after the silence of the house, and suddenly the beating of her heart didn't seem so loud. _

_ "Mistress!" Pollina, her lady's maid, shrieked, coming towards her. The entire household was arrayed in front of the still burning stables, but the men passing buckets paused and turned as their master strode towards them, dragging their clearly shell-shocked mistress who looked as if she'd been roughed up._

_ "Lady, what happened to you?" the other woman asked, reaching out for her. Jocelyn shook her head and pulled closer to William, who wrapped his arm around her waist and clasped her to him. "Lady you're shaking." She tried to fix her mistress's hair, it was in terrible disarray, and there was a sickening bruise darkening on her pale face. Jocelyn shook her head, feebly trying to push Pollina away._

_ "Will! Maxwell's here." Thomas St. John came running round the house, the Inspector just behind him._

_ "Max, he's in my house," William called, turning to face the two men. "He's in my house, he attacked my wife, and damnit I'd bet money that he set my stables on my fire!"_

_ "I've got lads going around the front," Maxwell said, coming to stop before the couple and heaving slightly. His unbuttoned coat flapped slightly over his shirt, one side higher than the other because the buttons and holes weren't matched correctly._

_ "Go through the garden, its quicke-"_

_ "WILLIAM!" The four turned to see the count, bleeding, stagger from the house, raise his pistol and shoot._

_ He tried to push her behind him. Maybe she'd been the first to see, maybe she'd already started moving, maybe Wickham was a lousy shot, maybe the wind- There were too many maybes. All William knew was that one moment she was beside him and the next she was slumping backwards into his arms. Time hadn't slowed down, hadn't sped up, it just kept going, and he couldn't pause it or rewind and try to understand how it had happened, he just knew that it had happened and he was reeling from it._

_ "Jocelyn! Jo-ce-lyn!" he screamed as he felt her weight collapse against him. His knees gave out of pure shock, and they fell to the ground together. Frantically he turned her over in his lap, cupping her face in his palm in time to see the light go out of her eyes. "JOCELYN!" He put his hand to the left of her breast, where the blood was coming from, pressed and pressed in a vain attempt to stop the life from draining out of her though somewhere in his shock he knew that she was gone. He would have sat there, clutching her body to him had he not heard the bastard whisper her name._

_ "Jocelyn- I didn't mean-" With a roar he lunged at Whickham, suspended between Tom and Max, lunged at him and drove him into the ground, where he raised his fist and punched him across the jaw, swung and punched him again, then decided that wasn't good enough, grabbed him by his collar and knocked his head against the ground, knocked it into the dirt until it mixed with the blood and turned to mud. _

_ "William! William!" He snarled and thrashed as his friends pulled him off the count, who would fall into unconciousness, then a coma, and finally death three days later. "William!"_

_ "He killed her!" he screamed, still struggling. "He killed her! She's dead and he-killed-her!" They let him go, and he slumped to the ground, taking in one body, then the other._

_ "Jocelyn," he whispered, crawling towards her. "Jocelyn." He cradled her body against him, burying his face in her hair. "Darling, my darli-" Overcome, his voice broke, and he wept. _

_ After the funeral he went looking for death, sunk so deep in grief and a bottle that even Tom hadn't been able to pull him out of it. When he finally met death, stumbling down the street in the middle of the night, he'd been struck by how beautiful she was. No skeletons, dark cloaks, or scythes, just a pair of hypnotic dark eyes, drawing him close._

_ "Do you want it?" she'd whispered._

_ "Yes, I want it," he replied. He let out a small cry of surprise when she bit him, then turned toward the encroaching blackness and welcomed it like a long awaited friend. He imagined that they saw each other there, in the middling time, glimpsed the other as they came and went._

_ The demon saw his pain and lapped at it, fanning it into anger, the anger into rage, rage into hate, whispering, "turn it outward". And so he did. _


	30. Chapter 30

"I think those boys want to have sex with us," Anya said, sipping her dirty Shirley through the straw. "Ooo, here they come!" Jocelyn looked dubiously at the pair that was swaggering over towards them, their collars popped, their caps askew, and all the arrogance in the world adding swagger to their strut.

"You ladies look thirsty," the first, big, blonde, and meaty said, giving them the once over like they were merchandise. Jocelyn glanced down at her drink. It was half-full.

"I'm fine, thank you," she said, twirling the dark liquid round with her straw.

"I'm almost done with mine," Anya said, and began to suck on the straw so hard that it gurgled.

"It'd be nice to have a second one on hand," the brunette, who obviously thought he was the charmer, said, leaning one elbow on the table. He flashed a set of square white at her. "What are you drinking, sugar?" Jocelyn coolly appraised him as she continued to stir her drink, her inbred politeness at odds with her current role as a bounty hunter.

"Whiskey and soda," she said with a smile. "And I'm married." Anya finished her drink with one last gulp and set the glass down with a thud as she breathed in deeply, much to the consternation of the meathead.

"Not-technically," she said, trying to catch her breath. "You're both-" Jocelyn shot the ex-vengeance demon at look of pure venom. "Fine," the other woman said with a huff, turning towards the blonde who was still watching her with his mouth open. "I'd like a drink please. Dirty Shirley?" The boy stood there for a moment as if unsure of what he should do.

"Well, get a move on," Anya said, shooing him towards the bar. She turned expectantly towards Jocelyn.

"That's an old person drink," the charmer said, ignoring Anya' obviously rapt attention. "Why don't I get you something fruity?" Jocelyn shook her head.

"I like my drink," she said, "it fits me. And so does my husband." Charming shook his head.

"See, now I don't believe that," he said, pointing a finger at Anya. "Or your friend here wouldn't have alluded to your marital troubles."

"Regardless of the state of my marriage," she said, casting a pointed glance at Anya, who had the nerve to look offended, "my husband has a history of violent behavior, and he won't be thrilled when he finds you hitting on me."

"Well if he's so protective, then where is he?" Charming demanded, lifting his hands and glancing around the room. "Why doesn't he come show me how he feels?" Jocelyn was about to show him how she felt, but the smell of burning and the shouts of men assailed her senses as fear abruptly consumed her, the world in front of her going dark as another rose before her to take its place.

"What the-" Charming said, backing away as Jocelyn lurched forward against the table, clutching the edge as if she was falling over into a great precipice. Smoke was in her lungs, clogging her, pulling down until she couldn't breathe, down into a warm night in April over a century ago, where men were running back and forth and shouting to one another, shouting for water because the stable was burning, _her_ stable was burning. The pressure on her hand cut through the smoke and fear; it was William holding her hand, his solid presence grounding her when all she wanted was to fall to the ground and weep with relief.

She heard the bang of the door as he threw it open, and it was her, already fraying and stretched to her breaking point, her senses straining for any sound of her would be attacker that picked it up on his arrival before anyone else, who turned and saw the gun that he was pointing at William, at William- she had to save William.

She sighed with relief as the bullet thudded into her chest, relief that she'd twisted in front of him in time, relief that it was her body that caught the metal and that his remained unmarked. The cold was already closing in on her as she fell backwards; she never felt his frantic hands on her waist or heard her name rip from his throat like the bullet had ripped from the barrel of the gun. The blackness was winning, was dragging her down, but to her, confident in her victory, it was reaching up to catch her and fold her gently into its soft bosom, to clasp her comfortably and welcome her into her rest.

"Jocelyn, Jocelyn, wake up." The boys had fled, but not after Meathead had come up just as Jocenlyn jerked back and reared up, arms outstretched as if to catch something that wasn't there, then collapsed and slid from the chair into a crumpled heap on the floor. He'd dropped his drink in shock, and high-tailed from the table with his friend.

"William!" Jocelyn sat bolt upright, calling out his name as she sucked in air. "Where is Spike?" she demanded, taking Anya by the shoulders and shaking her. "Who is his with? Xander? Andrew?"

"Xander's babysitting Andrew," Anya said, slightly terrified at the wild look in the other woman's eyes. "Spike's with Wood-" but the bounty hunter vanished, soundless, into a cloud of black smoke that disappeared.

"Did-did anybody see that?" Anya asked, looking back and forth around the Bronze. "No? Just me? Ok then."


	31. Chapter 31

"That's it," Wood snarled viciously, "come at me again." Spike lunged at him in a blind rage, his face meeting the gauntlets again, the cool metal adding another bloody bruise to the vampire's already darkened face. Wood smiled at the sound of metal meeting bone, pummeling him again and relishing every crunch and bit of blood that flew from his opponent's face.

"Giving up already?" he spat as Spike tumbled into the cross covered wall, unable to catch himself. The demon inside him was screaming for vengeance, telling him to turn his pain outward and take it out on the man standing above him. It warred with the William of his memory, who was still kneeling on the ground in shock, threatening to shut the reasoning part of him down to drown in numbness. He could smell his own blood, but his hands were covered with hers. The vision in front of him slid dangerously back and forth between Jocelyn's lifeless body and Wood, who advanced towards him, his eyes glittering manically.

He didn't feel the rough grip on his collar as he was pulled upright. He only saw her face, looking back at him as she had on their wedding day, beautiful and shining with love as his demon roared in the background.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as blood dripped from his mouth.

"Sorry?" Wood sneered. "Sorry? You took my childhood away from me." Spike's fist came out of nowhere, smacking into the principal's head and making him lose his grip.

"I wasn't talking to you," Spike said, now fully in his human visage. Snarling Wood charged, but Spike, now fully in control of his demon, easily ducked once, twice, three times before responding with a swing of his own, square in his opponent's gut with all the force of his vampiric strength.

"She was my world," Wood seethed, standing up and swinging again. "And you took her from me."

"And you weren't the center of hers," Spike said, catching the oncoming fist and bringing his own smashing down on the other man's face. "How that must've galled you."

"You're lying!" Wood roared, lunging at Spike and grabbing him round the middle. "My mother loved me!"

"But not enough to give it all up for you!" Spike replied as they teetered dangerously towards the cross covered walls. He grabbed his opponent under the arms and, ripping his arms from his waist, threw him headlong into the garage wall. His body connected with a sickened thud against the protruding wooden crosses before crumpling to the ground.

"She was a Slayer," Spike said, advancing towards the prone form struggling to rise. "She works _alone_. One girl in all the world to stand against the nasties in the night. Doesn't matter how many people she has around her, she works alone." He stopped a foot from where Wood was still struggling.

"Come on now," Spike said as the other man doubled over, gasping for breath. "You're not giving up already?" With a cry Wood launched himself at him, raining down blow after blow in a fury that Spike, now that cool and collected one, easily parried. He added in a few of his own, his fist connecting with the other man's face a few times, then dislocating his shoulder and breaking his nose with his elbow for good measure. The principal staggered back, collapsing against the wall and not moving. Spike sauntered over, bending down so he could hear the sound of shallow breathing.

"Let me tell you a story about a boy and girl," he said softly. "You see this boy loved a girl who was above his station, and even after she agreed to marry him he always wondered if she loved him back. So he pushed himself to be better for her, to be the kind of man she deserved." Spike shifted his weight, forcing Wood to look him in the eye.

"You see, he thought he had to win her love, but really he already had it. Because one day another man came knocking, who thought that he should have been the one to have her. Thought himself more deserving of her. And when the time came, when the shot was fired, that boy found his answer too late. 'Cause she'd loved him all long, you see, and she stepped in front of him to prove it. Took the bullet meant for him." Spike stood, walking over to the computer.

"The difference between you and me is that your mother didn't love you enough to give it all up. But my wife did. And my failure to protect her has haunted me-" he clicked the mouse "-until now."

_Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a young maid sing, in the valley below…"_

"Nice song you got there," he said, sauntering towards Wood. "You helped me realize all that. Thanks, Doc." He stopped, crooking his head to look down at the man before him. "I wanted you to know that before I killed you."

Jocelyn materialized outside the garage, the pull of her contract amplified by the worry at what she would find. She sighed in relief when he stepped out of the garage, looking worse for the wear.

"You killed him then?" she asked, reaching up to touch the bruises on his face. He took her searching hand gently in his.

"No, I let him live, on account of I killed his mother." He took her other hand in his, ignoring her attempts to check him for further injury. "I'm sorry," he said, looking into her eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't believe how much you loved me." She opened her mouth, but he shook his head. "I'm not finished." If he could breath he would have paused for a deep breath, but as it was he merely held her gaze. "Every time I heard that song, I saw you die. And I thought that the pain was what was holding me captive, but it wasn't my failure that drove me insane, because I saved you every night after that. Not when it counted, of course, but every night I was cleverer or faster or stronger." He gathered her hands to his mouth and kissed them, holding them to his cheek.

"It was the fear, Jocelyn, the fear that you didn't love me 'cause I didn't deserve you. But you proved me wrong, luv, the night you died for me. It just took me a century to get over myself and figure that out."

"Spike," she said, shaking her head softly, "William." Gently she withdrew her hands from his grasp and cradled his swollen face with them. "I love you. I always have." Leaning in she placed a gentle kiss on his bloody lips, not hearing the sound of feet pounding the pavement.

"Spike," a breathless Buffy said, coming to a halt in front of the couple. "Jocelyn? Where's Wood?"

"In there," Spike said, jabbing at the open garage with his thumb. "Alive, for the time being." He slipped his arm around Jocelyn and started to walk away, but stopped, looking at Buffy. "But if he ever so much as looks at me funny again, I'll kill him." Buffy caught the look in Jocelyn's eyes as they walked away, and shuddered.

The Slayer gingerly approached the garage, stepping inside and taking in the cross-covered walls, the lone desk, the computer, and the battered remains of a man propped up against the wall.

"Buffy-" he whispered as she approached, but she held up a hand, silencing him.

"Spike is the strongest fighter we have," she said simply. "And Jocelyn is an asset we can't afford to lose. If we're going to come out of this thing alive, we need both of them. If you try anything again, he'll kill you. More importantly, I'll let him." Wood looked up at her through the bruises marring his face, his eyelids blinking with effort. "And if Jocelyn asks for your head on a pike for her bounty, I'll give it to her." She turned, leaving him to his injuries.

"The mission is what matters."


	32. Chapter 32

Heat was rolling off Jocelyn, drawing every vampire in a mile radius to the Bronze. They walked by her in an endless parade, their tongues lolling slightly out of their mouths as they pondered what she was and what her wonderful blood would taste like. None of them ever stopped to say hello. They would pause for a fraction of a second, sniff the air in the front of her, scowl and walk off, aroused and eager to find new prey. They couldn't tell that the man wrapped around her was a vampire until they got close enough. Between the two of them they probably averaged out to a normal temperature.

Spike pressed his lips to her neck, grateful that he couldn't breathe. The alcohol had raised her delicious blood, only tasted in little nips here and there, directly underneath her skin, and he was having a bear of a time resisting the urge to sink his teeth into her unblemished neck.

"Bourbon?" Spike turned gratefully toward the bartender, picking up the new glass and gulping down the contents. The bartender raised an eyebrow as Spike put it down on the bar, pushing it in line with the others.

"Keep 'em coming, mate," the vampire said, turning around and resting his chin on Jocelyn's shoulder, nuzzling her skin with a sigh of relief. Alcohol was good. Alcohol dulled his senses. Alcohol made it easier to forget how _hungry_ he was. How she probably wouldn't mind if he just took a little nip… Groaning in pain Spike opened his mouth, kissing her in the crook between her neck and shoulder. He slid his hands down from her waist in an effort to distract himself, sliding his hands down her thighs to her knees, which he used to pull her closer to him.

"Spike…" she said with a question, turning her face toward him. He promptly captured her mouth and kissed her hungrily. Now that was distracting. As she opened her mouth against his a different kind of hunger began to blur his senses.

"William," she hissed as he tipped her body backward so her head was against his shoulder, exposing her neck. He proceeded to rain fevered kisses down his favorite appendage. "We're in public," she said, trying to sit up and smiling at the bartender. The man drank the shot he had brought for Spike, shaking his head as he placed it next to the line of overturned glasses. "_William_." Reluctantly he let her sit up. She turned around to face him. She was angry with him, and it brought the blood rushing to her cheeks. Spike groaned audibly. Jocelyn laughed.

"Dance with me," she murmured, untangling herself from her perch between his legs. She grabbed his arm, pulling him off his bar stool. He followed her, questions in his eyes. She led them on to the dance floor, pulling them into the center of the gyrating crowd.

"Is this better?" she said, linking her left leg around his and wrapping her arms around him.

"Much," he said, sliding his hands into her back pockets and pulling her flush against him. They moved with the music, not in any of the steps that had been drilled into them as children. The waltz, the foxtrot, the tango, the country reel, all of these required them to touch only chastely- at the fingertips, on the shoulder, on the waist- and lightly, always lightly.

"Is that Jocelyn?" Willow asked, squinting through the pulsing mess of bodies. "And Spike?" The potentials peered forward from the couches they were seated demurely on.

"Damn," Rona said, leaning back.

"Oh," Dawn said, looking slightly shocked.

"Can you do that in public?" Chelsea asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Where are they going?" Vi asked, watching as Jocelyn pulled a grinning Spike by the hand toward the back hallway.

"Probably to have sex," Anya said, walking up with a drink. "At least someone around her is getting some." She shot a pointed look at Xander.

Spike's hands cushioned her head and shoulders as Jocelyn's back hit the wall. His mouth was hard on hers as she hooked her legs around his waist and wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled away from her long enough to say, "Come on." Reluctantly she let herself slide down the wall and be pulled out the backdoor, where he took her eagerly in his arms again, bruising her mouth and neck with his lips.

"If you think you're having me in this alley…" she warned, only to be interrupted by his low chuckle.

"No, no, for what I have planned we'll need a proper bed." She grinned between kisses.

"Do you think you can wait that long?"

He never got to answer because someone yanked Spike off of her and punched him in the face, sending the vampire stumbling backward.

"You're gonna be waiting for a long time, fang face," an unfamiliar female voice chirped. Spike looked up from clutching his nose, shaking his head at Jocelyn, who looked pissed enough to incinerate the intruder right then and there.

"Nice punch." He reached out and caught the kick she'd aimed at him. "Lemme see, tight leather get up like that either means you're a Catwoman wannabe or you ran away from the Hell's Angels." His would be attacker wrenched her foot out of his grasp. "You must be Faith."

"My reputation precedes me," the Slayer said. "What'd you wanna do to her, something like this?" The slayer's vicious sidekick was interrupted by Jocelyn, who hooked one of her own beneath the Slayer's and threw the other woman off balance.

"What he does to me is none of your business," Jocelyn said, coming to stand by Spike as Faith sprawled to the ground.

"Look, lady," the Slayer said as she got up, "I'm trying to help you. Trust me, he's not who you think he is."

"Oh I know exactly who he is," Jocelyn said, eyeing the other woman. "Mind telling me who you are and why you think you can go around attacking random people?"

"She's the Slayer from L.A.," Spike stepping in front of his wife and turning towards Faith. "There's been a bit of a misunderstanding, I'm-"

"Spike. We've met before," Faith said, catching him with a right hook. Jocelyn frowned.

"Met where?"

"It's a long-" _punch_ "story-" _punch_ "that involves-" _punch_

"Bloody hell woman, I'm on your side!" Spike yelled, finally landing a swing of his own.

"That's not an answer," Jocelyn said, raising her hands in annoyance.

"Haven't you heard?" Faith said as she came off a roundhouse kick that sent Spike careening into a brick wall. "I've reformed."

"So as he," Jocelyn said, hurling a ball of fire directly at the Slayer.

"Woah!" Faith said, her Slayer instincts propelling her into a backflip as Jocelyn's fireball sailed past her head. She landed upright a few feet from Spike. "What the hell?"

"He said he was on your side," Jocelyn said, advancing on the Slayer with burning hands. "And I would I believe him if I were you."

"I saw him biting you," Faith sputtered, still trying to reconcile Jocelyn's burning hands with what she knew about human anatomy.

"Close, but no cigar," Jocelyn said, coming to stand in front of Spike.

"This town gets weird-" Faith was abruptly cut off as Buffy's fist collided with her chin.

"Oh, sorry, Faith," said Buffy innocently. "I thought you were still fighting."

"No worries, B," Faith said, rubbing her chin. "You still hit like you used to you." She gestured towards Spike and Jocelyn, who's hands were still burning. "You wanna help me with these two?"

"He fights with me," Buffy said, eying the couple. "She…" Buffy trailed off, unable to adequately describe their relationship.

"She owes me money," Jocelyn supplied. Buffy sighed. Faith frowned.

"You recruiting vampires now, B?" Faith asked. "Are you the bad Slayer now?" Her eyes widened. "Am I the good Slayer now?"

"He has a soul," Buffy explained, rolling her eyes.

"Like Angel?" Faith asked.

"Not like Angel," Spike said over Jocelyn's shoulder. "Angel's as dull as a table lamp, and we have very different coloring."

"Who's Angel?" Jocelyn whispered to him.

"As in Angelus," Spike whispered back. Jocelyn grimaced.

"Oh yea, personality to match a cardboard box."

"Like Angel," Buffy said.

"So who's the pyro?" Faith asked, jabbing her thumb at Jocelyn, who reluctantly clenched her fists and let the fire go out. Buffy sighed.

"It's a long story." She eyed Spike, who had once more wrapped his arms around Jocelyn's waist and was resting his hands in her front pockets. "Why don't you come inside and I can explain?" Faith turned toward the couple again. Spike had resumed nuzzling Jocelyn's neck now that the threat of imminent death had past.

"Uh, sure," she said, making to follow Buffy inside.

"Well, we'll be off then," Spike said, abruptly releasing Jocelyn and pulling her down the alley. The bounty hunter shrugged and grinned.

"Is he always like that?" Faith asked, following Buffy inside. Buffy sighed.

"Nah, only when he's hungry."


End file.
